Birds Asleep

I think I shall never espouse,
The grace of a tufted titmouse;

Nor the faith will in life to love,
For life, as like the mourning dove.

The jay I envy for its might,
And cardinals red for feathers bright;

The smaller ones for all their glee,
The charming little chickadee.

Upon their perch they scan for seed,
And swooping down, they peck and feed;

On Spring Mountain it had occurred,
I had a dream I was a bird.