Ode to the eastern Bluebird

 

Ode to the Eastern Bluebird

The bluest blue you’ll ever see, comes not from sea or skies

But floats about from limb to limb, as any bird that flies

Shy and unassuming, they select a mate to pair

Keeping to themselves, they build their nests with care

Folks may build them boxes to house their family brood

Where mom will sit to keep things warm, and dad provides the food

The eggs are blue but not as deep as the feathers of the two

And the chicks when they break out, have nary a shade of blue

When the fledglings fly away at last, and leave their nest behind

It takes a while to lose their spots and all their colors find

While mom is blue with tones of gray, and a faint rusty breast

Dad's a brilliant blue, all trimmed in white, with a deep copper chest

Bluer birds you may have seen, if you’ve travelled here and there

But none compare to the handsome pair that grace your garden fair.

'Cause the bluest blue you’ll ever see resides right on your street

The American Eastern Bluebird is the bluest bird you’ll meet.