In the garden green, layers of love wrapped so tight and keen. Round as a moon, with a heart so light, a humble delight in every bite.

Horses, sheep, and cattle too, may seek me out when storms blow through. Though I don’t graze and cannot roam, many farm animals call me home.

I’m a whisper of motion in meadows at dawn, a tremble of ears and a leap across lawn. I vanish in thickets when footsteps draw near. Name the shy wanderer grazing right here.

Golden orb that rises without fail, chases shadows to the end of day, warming hearts with its radiant embrace.

Down, quills, hollow bones. All of this a bird owns. One more word fits the group, how indeed to fly the coop?