The Eagle, he was lord above.
If I keep a green bough in my heart, the singing bird will come.
It’s a good thing we have gravity, or else when birds died they’d just stay right up there. Hunters would be all confused.
A bird which eats berries can be caught, but not a bird that eats wood.
The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
Poetry is like a bird, it ignores all frontiers.
Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? (Matthew 6:26)
Words are heavy like rocks, they weigh you down. If birds could talk they wouldn’t be able to fly.
There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud.
Be like the bird in flight… pausing a while on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, yet sings knowing yet, that she has wings.