By The Sweet Bird
J
James McLain
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By the sweet bird resting and warm the tropical beach.
From the high tree tops of our local topography.
Heavan and the earth to be our 'deeds' restricted range.
And to us off of heaven their nearby, flight white of the thing from our 'God' which is supported in pain of the human,
trying thus yet young and coping,
Dearly too the sweet bird when it comes again
having such a sweet song,
Tired and wet, it's head under wing in sleep, it sings.
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