Donna and the swallow

I, the swallow, wing swiftly through the sky. The winds may howl, but they part for me. And they ‎carry a melody: ‎

‎“Donna, Donna… stop complaining… like the swallows so proud and free…”
‎
Donna must be having a hard day, I wonder. Oh, she’s talking about me! But as I circle down, I see ‎the singer leaning over a fence at a calf to be. ‎

‎“Calves… bound and slaughtered… never knowing… why…” ‎

Poor calves, I think. And poor Donna. So I land, ruffle my feathers, and pretend to be ‎inconspicuous as I soak in the melody.