© 2014 Mollie Pearce McKibbon
With us oh so short a time,
The songbirds of the spring;
They build their nests among the leaves,
And then begin to sing.
The air is filled with sweet excess
Of trebled, warbled trills.
They sing of longing, loneliness,
Love songs from every bill.
They meet, they mate and raise their young
Until the air is chilled,
Then they gather, gossip and fly away
So other ears might thus be filled
With their exquisite songs of praise.