Through skies adorned with spring's hue,
The mountain bluebird soars anew,
A fleeting flash of cerulean light,
Tracing the path of its ancient flight.
Above Henry's Lake, they pause in grace,
A timeless haven, a sacred place,
Where whispers of the aspens play,
Guiding their wings on the wind's ballet.
Yet more than the lake, the meadows wide,
It's the quiet gift of human pride:
Small wooden homes, steadfast and true,
Await their arrival, painted with mountains dew.
For generations, hands and hearts,
Building shelters, their humble art,
A family's pledge, their gift to share,
With creatures passing through the air.
Through storms that raged and winters' chill,
The houses stood, resilient still.
Each spring, the bluebirds chirp and sing,
In gratitude for the shelter they bring.
For in this dance of birds and man,
We find a bond as old as the land.
A quiet kindness, a duty true,
Binding the hearts of the bluebird and you.
So year by year, as seasons turn,
The lesson remains for all to learn:
In the smallest acts of love we see,
The echoes of eternity.
