One bright afternoon, you see
Some wild birds in play.
If you remain silent,
You can make out what they say.

Sit here in the sunlight,
One bird says to her friend.
Because in a few short weeks,
This fair weather will end.

Soon comes hibernation,
The ritual of sleep.
As for you and me, there is
The southward trip we keep.

Winter frost will slither in
And this land will be dead.
So sit here and enjoy the sun
While leaves are overhead.

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