From the moment my eyes riveted on you, my painted stork,
I haven't ever seen you separated from your mixed age flock.

I tried every trick in my book as best I could, to lure you,
To have a word in private, but you never seemed to get the cue.
All I could tell you at your earshot was this "Beware, impending
Drought would be severe, fly down alone, in the pond I keep full"

But you still loves to hang out on the trees near the drying  stream,
Though you fly around my fecund pond to survey once in a while.