Some of your passages enraptured me because they paid attention to the dark in the light. Like the flies, for example, which you don't have to pity because of their short one-day life. Your rhymes sounded like music and, not being a native English speaker, I didn't pay attention to the content but liked the cheeky rhythm. It must have been great fun to make these rhymes, in fact I would have liked even more exaggerated nonsense in them.

A moving image flashed in my mind's eye when you talked about the weather and how "before running off from the dark and the meadow."

Where I felt incongruity was that the wrens seemed all too human in their contemplation of the other beings. The way you describe life in its facets, fun and seriousness are always very close, I think. When I separated it from the bird's song about the world around it, it became coherent again. The falling flowers, one after the other, tell of the constant alternation between dying and living.

There is a flaw in the gender of the cow. She is female.

What if you were to change the species of bird that sings about its living environment? Which bird would come into question?