Sitting at home on a hot summer's day,
A pen in my hand,
What in my poem could I possibly say?
There on the balcony the blue jay sits,
His feathers shining beneath Nature's light,
A representation of bliss,
He soon continues his flight.
From The Great Wall to Central Park,
My feathered friend knows no bounds,
Freedom from light till dark,
He then chirps: an unencumbered sound.
I now feel the breeze of the summer moon,
Through the window in my room,
While in my mind I ponder the blue jay's tune.