Thy bird, thy bird, flying with such grace,

You take off to the skies with such care,

You fly like a world war flying ace,

And land after being in the air.

Thy bird, thy bird, how do I love thee,

Let me count the ways,

The amount of ways that I thought up was three,

One of them is you fly a lot, but not on holidays.

Thy bird, Thy bird, your nest may be small,

But it is very well made,

It may not have a single wall,

But it gives you lots of shade.

That is the end of my poem on birds,

It definitely has a lot of words