Birdsong
Oh if I could hear the words,
That come out from the beaks of birds.
But no matter how I look,
Translation's not in any book.
…
Talk to their friends through sound of song,
They co-exist and get along.
Our own languages, so different,
Spread over world by peoples distant.
…
The Cold War's not yet at an end,
Through fire the world could end.
And even now, I see the signs,
Many species in decline.
…
But for now, I have the birds,
Their language, music, long I've heard.
As creatures large and creatures small,
This planet's meant for species all.