Oh, I would na’ be a birdie
In cold and snow so deep...
I would na’ be a birdie
So hungry could na’ cheep.
Such price to pay for wing-ed flight...
For freedom of the air...
Poor birdies search and huddle low
For tiny bits of fare.
But then when sun doth grace the sky
In stillness’ hushed first light...
Then price t’was paid to lift on wings
Was worth it.
Gone the night!