Birds

On seeing Birds, shot in the air, Falling half-dead to the ground, I simply fume, ’Tis not fair, For the hunter is the world! Birds like only freedom, They get it but seldom, Caged are they so often, Killed for no good reason, Witness to the creation, They glide and dart in fashion, It is He that feeds them, Not the world, I or them. Why then disturb the plumes, And feathers of the air? They can bear no ill-will, Nor do they complain still, Birds are beauteous beings, Innocent, habits so nice, Render the air with music, To ears, so pleasant and wise. Birds have their courtship, And times of hardship, Changing seasons, Sun and food, Prefer to live as they should.