Storks take flight

Many of you winged creatures,
Clothed in white,
Paint such a beautiful
Viewworthy sight.

One and three and five and ten,
You look like you've made
This badam tree your den,
So when will you fly, o when, o when?

You each and every one turn south
And one turns its neck to the east,
The grandpapa urging its wingling
To flight so it may save itself from any beast.

Now, seven, now four,
I look at the door,
As I paint a brushstroke
That means gore.

Now, three, now one,
The flights have begun,
Beckoning Monsoons and more
In my city of dreams.