It's sad to keep a cockie in a cage, if you have ever seen how majestically they fly.
It's no wonder that they are called cocky, they fly their magnificent wing-span with attitude.
Squawk, squawk, they call, as they wield around to a preferred branch.
The swans glide across the lake, as the sun reflects in it.
The trees rustle, as a gentle wind blows.
The grape vine over my head sheilds me from the heat of the sun sun.
Dappled, on my face.
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