The scuff holding of the nest is full of thorns,
Which the birds beak pick one by one,
Up to the tree, away from rain and shine,
The castle for the young birds sways in elation.
Walk on the needles, the parents at work,
The claws are strong and toughly leather ed,
The new eggs are soft with no hard shells,
The hays and soft grass are laid as the bed spread.
Both of them are overjoyed, as no third party involved,
They work in pair and stay in their own yard,
The trees are full of nests, where the singing can be heard,
At certain trees, only one carrying the eggs, struggle to meet the end.
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