Squaking gaping uplifted beaks
ever waiting impatiently.
For father or mothers return
with wiggling worms or other things.
To swallow and quell stomachs
in their world of twigs and grasses.
Resting on crushed colored egg shells
built high above by their parents.

These little baby greyish ones
begin to feather out and grow.
Now they stretch, flap and learn to fly
until its time to soar on air.
Come next spring they will all return
searching for branches of their own.
Accompaning mates they have found
to continue this yearly scene.