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Born in a distant land, In an unknown dale, These birds every season Unto my shores make loving tweets.

Every year, without fail They reach these fields, my window sill. Every year, into my horizon They spread their wings in pure delight! Of the gentle brooks and endless plains, Of the melodies of the distant springs, Of the falling leaves and forest glades, It is all a whistling tale! Covering umpteen lands and the depthless blues, They reach this riverside in a boisterous company . With kith and kin under their wings It is an annual meet of old friends.

They spend a holiday here, They are here for a brief period. Far from their native haunts They too love these whispering winds. And, weeks and weeks later They leave this peaceful inn, my window sill. Those dales are calling them back Those seasons are keeping them alive. Lending my ears for their happy chirp, I am wandering along these banks. Lending my moonlit nights, My Silence is waiting for their annual visit. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Note:-The accompanying photo has been taken by me.