Take Skywards As Wings-Are-Meant

Her eggs are round, white as snow one, that's been thrown and is now, quite-imbedded with black-stone not-round as a honeycomb, infamously, hard to see she could be a sedge-land-bee chasing insects, eat chaff seed, nesting beneath-the-bindweed yes, leave the flowers-be. Male sings, before the moonlight soaking up drowsy sunlight till it whispers in wheatear. it's now time to leave mid-air find someplace fairer—avail come-away ground-hugging, quail. there's more my heart can-lament take skywards as wings-are-meant.