The Cedar Waxwings
Majestic, royal beauties!How stately you appear!While headed south you ride the storm, And then you disappear.
Where red berries used to be,Sometimes there’s not one left;However big your flock is,Is how much we’re bereft.
But don’t misunderstand me!‘Tis a small price to pay,To help you on your journey,A thousand miles away.
Website powered by Network Solutions®