Chirps

Do you hear those chirps

In the canyon grove,

Where the trees are thick

And that bird just dove?

The bird calls back down,

Soars above the trees,

Then circles the grove

And keeps on calling.

Voom! From the trees below,

Bursts another bird.

A second follows.

They wait for the third.

The four of them glide

On the morning wind,

Up to the top of

The dreaded canyon.

Are they siblings? No.

Birds don’t work that way,

But they answer calls

Of others anyway.

Birds aren’t bound by blood,

But by survival.

They know so little,

Yet this is vital.

No bird flies alone,

And neither should you.

If you fly astray,

Listen for my coo,

Then remember, too:

You’re often stranded

But sometimes you soar

And help those in the canyon.