Scorouging down by shrubs in the leaves
A bird which tries hard for to please
A Wren by day, by name and by night
A neighbourly bird out of sight.
With song so sweet heard every day
A delight to be heard but not seen
A delicate movement amid the decay
A glance of brown and some green.
With tail held high, proudly aloft
With feathers so perfect and soft
He chants to you while covered in moss
Happy Birthday my dear Beautiful Joce.
The Wren's mesaage
Peace, God's agape love, abundant blessings,
John Michael
Love that last line!
Ron