on the sill outside my
window.
he's looking in,
pecking his beak
against the pane.
he's
shivering.
he can't wrap his wings
tightly enough
around
around himself.
i want to
throw him out a blanket,
or a small thimble
of hot
cocoa, but he has no hands
to hold it.
you can't help everyone
in this life.
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