Ode to the Buzzards
Oh Buzzards, Oh Buzzards
Way up so high.
You circle and circle
Against a blue sky.
You ride on the thermals
Before summer storms
Letting them push you
To air that is warm.
Soaring and cruising
Looking for dead stuff.
It does not seem
That your job is too tuff.
Some surely think
That it sucks to be you
Since you are part of
Nature’s clean-up crew.
Doubt that you care
As birds of a feather.
Because it is true,
You are always together.
You’re seen on high places
Covered in morning dew
Wings outstretched looks creepy
But, the sun is drying you.
You’re seen on the roadsides
Having some lunch.
Raccoon pâté,
Or o’possum for brunch.
You’re rather unsightly,
Upon close up view.
There’s a reason for that
And most never knew.
If your bald head had feathers
You would be such a mess
And no one wants gunk
Being brought to the nest.
So, Buzzards, oh Buzzards
It’s good to have you.
Ever so grateful,
You do what you do.
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