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.
started appearing in early July.

They are and glossy,
bossy,
But no more the jays.
As finish their feeding,
I reading
Of their ways.

They no moss,
They no leaves,
To fine homes
In the or the eaves.
A cowbird roams the woods
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 what hes to do.
a purposeful thrust of his juvenile legs,
He to dispose of the resident eggs,
Make short work of the slumbering or phoebes,
Who drop to the ground any sound,

Or, he leaves quite alone!
Soon a stranger arrives to his gaping 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 with the of the cowbirds,
The display of their wings.
I watch them hold by the cherrywood feeder,
And ponder the nature of things,

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

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

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