Up in the hills Fearless, flapping wings or standing still The birds knew the way around Their home Overlooking the concrete jungle Fearless, flapping wings or standing still
The tiny yellow flowers And their tender stems swayed in winter Green and pretty after the rains Divided by the walkers trail in between
Sun soaked and dried crisp The flowers on the stems Know of their browning end Shine with a golden glow In the first rays of the sun