This busy bird,
Leaping in flight
From one altitude to another,
Chirping tiny messages
Full of purpose,
Or are they exuberations of delight?
I wish I knew
If this busy bird
Feels something like joy
This warm spring morning.
Flying from treetop to treetop,
Free-falling,
Playing with gravity,
Lighter than air.
Perhaps it’s all business,
All matter of fact
To one born with wings.
Perhaps it’s all joy.
~ Russ Allison Loar
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