MIGRATION’S LIBATION

Consider now a hummingbird, Mere tenth of an ounce he weighs.

Six hundred miles in twenty-five hours, Over Mexico’s gulf his praise.

Each second his wings seventy-five beats, On and on he goes.

His ruby throat shining with wings unseen.  Six-million flaps he foregoes.

Migration is instinct, past experience none.  Explain if you can this fact.

A compass built in, a map in their heads.  From Creator to them a pact.

From North Pole to South Pole the Arctic Tern flies, Every year 22,000 miles.

The poles have rich food, but how did the bird, Discover these ice-covered isles?

Much food for thought, these flying jewels!  Very-well-designed machines.

Do you give credit to a primeval soup, or to the Almighty for living figurines?