In the quiet of contemplation, pondering life's grand design,
A revelation unfolds, in nature's subtle signs.
For life, my friend, is a tapestry of wings and feathered words,
A ballet orchestrated by birds, in skies where dreams are stirred.
Storks, graceful messengers, bear the tales of newborn cries,
Their wings a cradle for innocence, painting azure skies.
Yet, problems peck like woodpeckers, relentless in their quest,
Tapping on the timbers of fate, putting endurance to the test.
Porridge, a mystical concoction, stirred by the number forty's hand,
A recipe known to those who heed, a taste of grains and sand.
Pigeons soar with messages, carrying whispers of the day,
In the language of coos, secrets unfold, as they wing their way.
News transcribed by quacking scribes, the ducks with tales to tell,
In ripples of ponds, the headlines dance, where reflections swell.
Cuckoo, the arbiter of time, counts the heartbeats in the air,
A pendulum swinging with each call, a reminder of moments rare.
Larks claim the dawn, a symphony of hope in morning's birth,
Their melodies weave through dew-kissed fields, proclaiming joy on earth.
As the sun dips low, owls emerge, guardians of twilight's hush,
In nocturnal silence, they navigate dreams, in the quietush.
Yet, behold the crow, wise and serene, a Buddhist in the trees,
Amidst the avian opera, it observes with tranquil ease.
Let the world whirl with its feathery ballet, a dance of endless chance,
For the crow, the sage, remains untouched, in its stoic, mindful trance.
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