There is room, here, on our winds, for the wings of Sea Eagles to soar
and flitting Butterflies, around the garden flowers,
Barn Owls, white as snow, like ghosts, appearing and disappearing,
Kestrels and other birds of prey, quick as a bullet,
all the wild fowl down the shore, those that stay for winter, and those coming back from Africa, to fish the seas and tides
Finches, Jenny Wrens small like a Bee, and Bees of every family
and of course that lazy bird who lays her egg in another's nest, the Cuckoo, Cuckoo, who we listen out for to welcome spring.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
There is room, here, on our winds, for the wings of Sea Eagles to soar
and flitting Butterflies, around the garden flowers,
Barn Owls, white as snow, like ghosts, appearing and disappearing,
Kestrels and other birds of prey, quick as a bullet,
all the wild fowl down the shore, those that stay for winter, and those coming back from Africa, to fish the seas and tides
Finches, Jenny Wrens small like a Bee, and Bees of every family
and of course that lazy bird who lays her egg in another's nest, the Cuckoo, Cuckoo, who we listen out for to welcome spring.