Changing Places

The wind blows from the north,
Pushing the hot air through the field,
The withered bamboo leaves,
Dancing brightly full of life,
Staring at the sky,
Was a bird,
It feathers coloured like a rainbow,
It claws tight to the broad tree,
Opposite the bamboo.
Sometimes it put a sound,
A grieving tune to any ears,
Something it fly down,
Putting it beak to the earth.
But it is time.
Time for the bird to fly away,
As season change,
It also have to be in other place,
Somewhere new,
But still it's a nature for it,
That's what birds do,
Fly away when the wind changes.