Thy bird, thy bird, flying with such grace,
You take off to the skies with such care,
You fly like a world war flying ace,
And land after being in the air.
Thy bird, thy bird, how do I love thee,
Let me count the ways,
The amount of ways that I thought up was three,
One of them is you fly a lot, but not on holidays.
Thy bird, Thy bird, your nest may be small,
But it is very well made,
It may not have a single wall,
But it gives you lots of shade.
That is the end of my poem on birds,
It definitely has a lot of words