A bird preyed, its mistaken for a green fleshy food.

I am the doomslayer of chickens, with knives in each hand. Fear my apathy, for I’m known to startle quickly. My preferred habitat is guerrilla warfare.

I sit on the water but I’m not a duck, Push me with oars and I’ll never get stuck. When you feel tired, I help you stay strong, With each little stroke, you keep moving along.

Where earth meets sky in a daring leap, A stony face where secrets sleep. Stand on the edge, with courage to defy, The silent guardian of the horizon's eye.

Colorful sentinels standing guard at the curb, they feast on yesterday's waste to birth tomorrow's resources, a green army marching towards a cleaner future.