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 to rely on his brains,

He takes off for a much warmer climate, he’ll show off his feathers there,

Returning again when the mercury soars, to strut his stuff without care.



As I reach the end of my years, I find I have a lot of good information stored up in this old decrepit mind of mine. If I don't write it all down, it may vanish and no one will have the advantage of my thoughts. This is why this blog exists. I love the Lord, Jesus with all my heart and soul. I know I'm undeserving of all He's done for me, but I also know that His love is beyond my comprehension. I've always wanted to write. I never kept diaries, but tucked my thoughts in my head for future reference. I use them now in creating stories, plays, poetry and my blog. I continue to learn every day. I believe the compilation of our time spent with God will have huge affect on the way we live. I know I'm a sinner and I need a Savior. I have One through Jesus, Christ. My book, "Stages - a memoir," is about the seven stages of life from the perspective of a woman. It addresses all the things girls and women go through in life as they travel it with Jesus, and it is available on
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1 Response to PHEASANT TAILS

  1. I am reminded of the hardiness of the birds who remain during the harsh winters of the upper Midwest. Perhaps a few Montana homesteaders stuck it because of the dogged determination of these feathered creatures.

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