Hollow Birds

Those birds sing their song,
even though they are hollow inside.
Oh they trill sweetly, hollow.
Lovely they are, destitute.

Where is their hope? In song?
In spread wings, with tender feathers?
In they sky where they float and glide?
Those birds trill sweetly, hollow,
chests swell and fall, full of winds.

Cats claws await,
sharp and dicing,
where those birds float.