The Poor Little Birds

I put out food for the little birds
but then the big birds come
and, in long, black beaks, take everything
leaving not one single crumb.

They leave nothing for the little birds
who fill the air with song;
those big, black croaking crows
take everything just cause they’re strong.

Perhaps nature too puts out her food;
enough for us all to feed
but then bullies come with gold and guns
and take far more than they need.

Nature bless all the poor little birds;
feed them for the joy that they give
and poor men with nothing but their words;
when hard winter comes, help us all to live.