by Jack Prelutsky
It's noisy, noisy overhead,
the birds are winging south,
and every bird is opening
a noisy, noisy mouth.
They fill the air with loud complaint,
they honk and quack and squawk --
they do not feel like flying,
but it's much too far to walk.
Sing a Song of Seasons: A Nature Poem for Each Day of the Year
Selected by Fiona Waters
Candlewick, 2018
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