When roses are adorned with beads of dew,

And the sky is inked with crimson blue,

A little fellow spreads his wings,

As he dips and skips and merrily sings.

High above the dappled trees,

His voice is carried with the breeze.

You hear his tune and know it’s him,

As he shares his joy in the sky within.

His feathers dipped in brightest gold,

Like changing leaves before the cold,

Add charm as he gracefully skips along—

Greeting the world with beautiful song.

By Stacy Smith