They have such and elegant feather.
You shant keep them bound with a teather.
Though we beg them to stay,
they all fly away.
For lo, they doth fear the weather.
When North the days grow shorter and cold
it is time for an action quite bold.
Mittens? They do not choose.
Wool caps? They refuse.
Their sweaters they never unfold.
Then its off to warm Arizona.
Perhaps Texas or California.
And now they travel by plane
by car or by train.
No stopping in Oklahoma.
Take to the skies! Beaks pointed Southward!
Where they shant find a single cheese curd.
Our beating hearts do yern
praying they return
Behold the flight of the snowbird!
