Song of Sol. 2:12 The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
~ The Sandhill Crane ~
The majestic beauty of Crane descending
Black lines mount the sky
Like rows and rows of soldiers pending
Their song-filled woes draw nigh.
Their movement off in the distance
Seeking a haven to rest.
Being met with no resistance
To the wandering river they nest.
Right on cue each year they meet
The melody fills the air.
Gather together new friends to greet
A sanctuary they share.
Flocking northward like a band of thieves
To the winding river they roam.
A blanket of clouds each one weaves
Finding a shelter to call home.
Briefly at the Sandhills they stay
The morning’s call will incite you.
You’ll rise and shine to greet each day
Until the moment the Crane bid adieu!
Isa. 60: 8 Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their windows