From scrublands and marshes to woodlands and meadows,  

I'll house in the grasses and rooftops.  

With blue and brown feathers and a tail like arrows,  

I'll be busy until my song stops.  

I'll build my nest from mud and sticks. 

With a joy that never lessens.  

I'll make a home in branches or bricks,  

And leave small, yet worthwhile impressions.  

Over the years, though I may grow old,  

My life will never bore.  

And I hope that my presence they will uphold,  

Even when I live no more.  

So here I stay, building with scraps and twigs,  

Whistling my tune every day.  

And when people hear my cheerful jigs,  

They know fortunes are on the way.  

To live a life with purpose, nothing more,  

Is all I really do wish for.