The Blue Tit

I sit here, upon my tree,
Eating seed, oh bountiful tree.
I scuttle away with all my might,
As the machines work day and all night.

They cannot see me,
As small as I am,
But I can see them,
The face of cruel man.

I'm usually there,
Showing off my blue crest,
And now my trees gone,
Along with the rest.

Now I am flying away,
Looking for trees where to live.
Flying through the cars breath,
And will soon have life to give.