Song of the Birds
They bounce and they hop and they chirp;
Spreading their wings with glee,
they fly from tree to tree;
The crisp, cool drops of rain
splash on their gleaming feathers;
They sing a joyful melody
and a song of praise;
Beckoning to their young,
the mothers teach them to laugh, to play and to rejoice;
Yet as the pitter-patter of the rain fades away,
these little ones are still found glowing with merriment.
Splashing in the fresh, new puddles,
they sing the song of the birds –
a testament and a praise to their glorious Maker.
-- Hannah Millikin
Rannaigheact Mhor: Poetic Form - I used to think the Welsh forms were the most complicated, but today’s Irish form sure fits in a lot of rules in only 28 syllables. Let’s look at the ran...