The night passed
The sun's shinbone
Sings fast,
And the birds,
Its openly wings
It regards carries
To sky, and, to fly
Becomes it,
Trot and will arrange food
It seeks awaiting
The grain chamber
And courage to berry,
That tiny birds,
That are hidden in nest,
And for dose
The bird returned
Takes in nest, and,
Tiny birds to dosed it
Anxiously awaiting the
Next time, when will
Tyrant hunter came
And as will'd
Tree tailors came
To separate
Its tiny birds
And to ruin
Its nest,
But to enjoy
His own profits
