Song of the Bird

Drifting over my head was a sweet melody
From a nest high above in the cottonwood tree
And to practice the aim of my birthday gun
I fired one shot and the song bird was sung
Now I was a hunter without any doubt
And as I ran closer I started to shout
But no one could hear me for I was alone
And mother was calling for me to come home
I knelt in the quiet to study my kill
Its beautiful wings were lying there still
I then realized just what I had done
I dropped all my bullets and started to run
Someday I’ll return to the old cotton tree
And walk through the prairie of my memory
The sound of a gun will never be heard
And I’ll sing along to the song of the bird