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.