Gone are those birds,
Who visited backyard of my home.
They had spend their days
Here, my mother says.
They flew away, un-announced, off their own.
Gone are those various noises,
That accompanied my plays.
Now no one here for the cheer,
When I’ll face monsters of my fears.
Them, alone, with my stick I slay.
Gone is that stench,
That wandered in the ardent air,
Of the food, ate in haste,
Of nasty things, they waste.
Informed me of their presence around here.
Gone are those from sight,
To some benevolent land.
Here, together beneath the rude sun,
We had so much to done.
They yet not know me as friend.
Gone are those birds,
Only the broken feathers left on ground.
But, before they again pull here in,
I would sew these into wing.
So I'll be with them forever, and fly around.
