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Birds ©

Ray E. MacRae
New South Wales, Australia

On a beautiful Australian Day
One can sit and know one is blest.
Each cloud lends is shade on its way,
To somewhere, for clouds never rest.

The winds rise and fall, buffets the grass short and tall.
Shivers the trees, as the leaves feel the breeze.
Then stillness again, a bird can be heard.

I ponder the birds; they have no need to toil,
Yet they cheerfully work to build a nest
Only to raise young who will give them no rest.

What Spirit is he? that can muster these lives,
To have them enjoy work that will surely bind,
The selflessness to merely continue their kind.

The beauty they bring. Yet do they understand
The part they play in this great land.
Our greed threatens their very existence.

Seems we no longer trust the Great Spirit,
But demand more and more as we go.
Unlike the birds a path of destruction,
We leave for our young to follow.

Yet it is here for us as it is for the birds.
We should merely enjoy reproducing our kind,
And teach the same to our young left behind.

Birth, life, death, is for us as it is for the birds
Why not whistle and enjoy as they show
And leave the planet healthy as we go.

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