Sitting at home on a hot summer's day,

A pen in my hand,

What in my poem could I possibly say?

There on the balcony the blue jay sits,

His feathers shining beneath Nature's light,

A representation of bliss,

He soon continues his flight. 

From The Great Wall to Central Park,

My feathered friend knows no bounds,

Freedom from light till dark,

He then chirps: an unencumbered sound.

I now feel the breeze of the summer moon,

Through the window in my room,

While in my mind I ponder the blue jay's tune.