Luyện nghe bài hát Cowbirds

I up to the sound of the cowbirds,
Their burbling, cry.
You can see them all day at the 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 roams the woods until
She finds a nest that the bill,
in a tower of green.
She stays but doesnt brood.
She return to offer food,
But flees the scene.

Her one hatches quickly,
And does hes wired to do.
With a purposeful of his juvenile legs,
He starts to dispose of the eggs,
short work of the slumbering finches or phoebes,
Who drop to the ground any sound,

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

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

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

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

As a stout baby cowbird falls
To the piteous of a ghost,
And the sound of his mamas
May we outnumber our host.