Free Spirit

I chase the wind o’er slow buddings green,

And thro the fair maidens follicled bows,

But then it gaily waves, runs after me,

Through meadows smiling bloom, the bright’ning cherry rose.

And when it tires I drift away with peace

Past spiders dreamcatchers, thro drops of falling dew.

And as I sail through lively cobbled streets,

I whistle the divas tune, my many thank-yous.

What am I?

Answer: A Birds Song

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Poetry