Luyện nghe bài hát Cowbirds

I up to the sound of the cowbirds,
burbling, beautiful cry.
You can see all day at the cherrywood feeder.
They started appearing in July.

are stocky and glossy,
bossy,
But no more the jays.
As they their feeding,
I begin
Of curious ways.

gather no moss,
They no leaves,
To fashion homes
In the or the eaves.
A cowbird roams the until
She finds a nest fills the bill,
in a tower of green.
She awhile but doesnt brood.
She return to offer food,
But flees the scene.

Her young one quickly,
And what hes wired to do.
With a thrust of his juvenile legs,
He to dispose of the resident eggs,
Make short work of the finches or phoebes,
Who to the ground without any sound,

Or, he leaves them alone!
Soon a stranger to fill his gaping beak,
As if he one of her own.
The will be told in the course of a week.
The latecomers, and small,
Will get little or at all.

The dusk is with the call of the cowbirds,
The striking display of wings.
I watch them hold by the cherrywood feeder,
And ponder the nature of things,

How stars have died can collide in the night,
Make such a grand as they spatter,
How sunsets bring up a groan of delight
Are filled particulate matter,

How it hardly seems
That some get the boot,
So others can and grow fat.
a metaphor there,
But its fruit,
So Ill leave it at that,

As a stout baby falls asleep
To the cheep of a ghost,
And the sound of his mantra:
May we outnumber our host.