In the gentle blush of dawn’s embrace,
A symphony of wings takes flight,
Feathered whispers in the morning sky,
Dancing on the edge of light.

The lark sings to the waking sun,
Melodies woven through the breeze,
Each note a promise of the day,
Carried on the rustling leaves.

Swallows trace the azure dome,
In patterns only they can weave,
A tapestry of fleeting grace,
In the artistry they conceive.

As twilight draws its curtain close,
The chorus fades to gentle rest,
Yet in the silence, echoes remain,
Of birds that soared, and skies caressed.