To soar like a bird would be a grand thing,
With flights through cobalt depths and azure seas;
Nothing against you but air on your wing
‘Til something bad came carried on the breeze,
As once again mankind did as they please
And suddenly your range was cut in two,
Whilst half of your brethren felt this unease,
As climate change meant you no longer flew
With careless thought, as skies turned dead from purest blue.
This is a Spenserian stanza about a recent study, which found that over 50% of bird species may lose more than half of their current geographic range because of climate change.