Flee from a dusty hillocks,
Cooing aloft in baleful skies,
Crouching along banks for sips,
Perching on lewd shrubs.

Not always season of banquet,
But season of dearth
When fields are gleaned,
Delving the ground with beak
For swallows left fields.
Deprived from reprieve of cold life.

Seeking to be caught in a cage
Of Magi;
That a gift will be lavished
To usher a reprieve.

                                  ©2020