ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©
Birds of a feather will flock together, especially when it’s cold,
The thermometer reads below zero, and the white stuff gets quite old,
They forage and search for corn off the cob, but nary a speck remains,
What’s left in the world for this lovely bird, but rely upon his brains,
He takes off for a much warmer climate, he’ll show off his feathers there,
Returning again with the mercury, to strut his stuff without care.