The babies have feathered and flown.
It is time to wing to the South.
Your house holds the echo of your song,
and awaits your return in the spring.
The babies have feathered and flown.
It is time to wing to the South.
Your house holds the echo of your song,
and awaits your return in the spring.
I like your beautiful picture and poem. They go well together. We have many bird houses, so I have often experienced what your poem describes.
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love it!
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