In skies they soared, their wings so free,
Yet carried a shadow we couldn’t see.
A virus whispered in feathered flight,
Invisible in day, relentless by night.
From beaks and breath, the droplets fall,
Through flocks of birds, it touches them all.
In farms and forests, wild or tame,
The silent spread begins its claim.
Humans watch with wary eyes,
As chickens cluck beneath gray skies.
A touch too close, a careless hand,
And sickness crosses from bird to man.
Fever burns, the body aches,
In crowded lungs, the virus wakes.
A cough, a breath, a fight for air,
The toll of nature’s quiet snare.
Yet hope remains, in masks we trust,
In careful hands, avoiding dust.
Cook the poultry, stay away,
From the places where infected lay.
For though the bird flu’s grip is tight,
We face it with a steady fight.
The threat is real, but so is care,
Together, we are more aware.
And in the end, the skies will clear,
The birds will fly, but without fear.
