While passing through the deep dark blue
to somewhere far away.
I stopped to rest my black-fringed wings;
your yard a perfect stay.
A Mourning dove sits on your fence
and in the trees are Jays.
Cardinals swooping by are wary,
and so am I, of they.
But now, I sit upon this wire,
and wait for break of day.
My flight takes me to places far.
Weary, here's where I'll stay.
For in the morning and at night
the flightless look my way.
They marvel at my beauty white,
of them, I'm not afraid.
