The song of the Loon is a eery tune .Can send shivers down my spine.

But to other fowl it’s lonely howl .Means that this here girl is mine.

The smallest bird it’s sad to say.Has no song to sing ,

yet he laughs at all the other birds because humming is his thing.

Color makes the difference here .Not the song or size.

He searches every flower.To find his love , his prize.

The prize of love is a flowery song .He hums it hums it all day long.

There are no words to describe.How he love his ruby bride.

A robin in the yard after winter long and hard.

Pulls a worm cock’s it’s head

sings a song it’s breast is red.

In the distance I hear a crow .His cawing softer softer softer grows.

Around the tree the woodpeckers chase a mate for this coming spring .

The eager young males quicken the pace till the tree has a feathery ring.

Out in the back in an old rusty swing set a house wren has salvaged her pride .

She sits atop and sings to the sun setand the moon begins it’s ride.

The hoot of an owl Has a question in it’s call.

Who cooks for you Who cooks for you Who cooks for you all ?

The drumming of wings in early morning is not an alarm nor a warning .

Some where on the forest floor ruffed grouse feed then drum some more.

Chick-a-dee dee dee chick-a-dee dee dee .

The small bird sings you are beautiful and that heaven has sent you to me.

Oooh oooh oooh, does the dove cry for me when I think of you?

I find you in my thoughts so deep in the twinkle in my eye in the tears that I weep

You some how touched my very soul you freed my spirit your trust I stole.

The tears that I weep the thoughts that I hold deep are not for you or me .

There for the earth the trees the dove on the breeze

and the song of the chick-a-Dee.