The feathered bird waltzes in the trees.
Dancing from branch to branch,
he proclaims his territory.
A spotlight shines upon the king,
and a glorious breeze blows.
The breeze turns harsh and cold,
with it comes flying pellets of water.
Still the king dances,
wet though he may be.
He dances until he falls from the tree.
The morning spotlight searches,
but no tree king is found.
A child, instead walks on the ground.
Crouching down he in remorse,
her warm rain sprinkles the fallen king.