“Chirp-yum, chirp-yum,” sings the yellow-tail chic.
“These berries are butyraceous—they melt in the beak!”
Thank you, feathers, for access to bush behind the bawn, safely hidden from that beastly fawn.
Crabwise scooch across the branch. Do the vivid ones taste of honeysuckle perchance?
“Chirp-yawn, chirp-yawn,” sighs the sun-striped, forlorn, crying, worn-ful pupil-monger of the nest of chicks.
“Next time, papa bird is eggsitting while mama bird free-flys off to find her picks of licks.” ; )