Luyện nghe bài hát Cowbirds

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

They are and glossy,
bossy,
But no than the jays.
As finish 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 a nest that fills the bill,
Snug in a of green.
She stays but doesnt brood.
She return to offer food,
But flees the scene.

Her young one quickly,
And what hes wired to do.
With a purposeful thrust of his 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 quite alone!
Soon a stranger arrives to fill his beak,
As if he one of her own.
The tale be told in the course of a week.
The latecomers, and small,
Will get little or at all.

The dusk is alive the call of the cowbirds,
The striking of their wings.
I watch hold court by the cherrywood feeder,
And quietly ponder the of things,

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

How it hardly fair
some birds get the boot,
So can live and grow fat.
Theres a 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.