Birds of a Feather.

Birds of Feather

Taylor Horne 

Oh, such striking plumage, for all the world to see

Your vibrant hues, greens and blues do fill my eyes with glee

But seasons change, and hunters come, and you can scarcely hide

Your feathers molt, and all that's left, is what you have inside

As mating goes, your colors make most hens stand open-beaked

But underneath your stunning shades, your center's more unique

The bird I knew, was plucked and bruised and suffered broken wings

And safe away inside our nest, his soul would start to sing

I once saw what others see, and now its overlooked

You're the prettiest of birds, and now your goose is cooked