Look to the sky where blue birds fly,
it's such a sight to behold;
On a summer's night they still take flight,
and wander far to lands of old.

The screeching owl sits in his tree,
awaiting his mate for life;
Neither worry about food or famine,
nor do they care for strife.

Each touch of nature holds secrets,
of how they view the world;
And what they say to one another,
about the troubles that unfurl.

We can never know that holy spot,
which reveals the peasant or king;
It's just the way our minds evolve,
from winter to the birth of spring.

Each vision sparks a spirit's tale,
with words that we should know;
And heaven's blessings sending hope,
to every friend and every foe.