They have arrived from Siberia's cold northern shore
Eight thousand miles as the crow fly from here or maybe more
High above the coasts and cliffs by the sea
They do not need a passport these creatures are free.
Yet they are not free to live where they were born
They leave the cold north in the cold Artic morn
They leave the cold north just ahead of the snow
For the warmer south as the Artic winds blow.
It's their lust for survival that carries them south
And perhaps the lust for survival is what all life's about
They leave the far north for the south far away
And return for to breed in late April and May.
We may envy them their freedom though they are not truly free
for they must leave their home shore on the northern sea
In the Artic Winter they surely would die
So south for survival they are forced to fly.
From the Siberian Artic they have made it to here
A journey they undertake two times a year
Above coastal Asia and many a coastal town
And by coastal eastern Australia they have journeyed down.
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