Sitting with the birds
Rustling of leaves
Songs to be heard
Sun in the sky
Leaves budding
In the branches up high
Feathered creatures hop and fly
But all that seems to come to mind
Is how much I miss your brown eyes
Share:Sitting with the birds
Rustling of leaves
Songs to be heard
Sun in the sky
Leaves budding
In the branches up high
Feathered creatures hop and fly
But all that seems to come to mind
Is how much I miss your brown eyes
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