birds, dear Lord, did we
ever have
birds
in the back yard when we
put up the bird
feeder.
swung from a high pole.
birds of every
feather,
from bright red,
to black,
to shades of sparrow gold.
we couldn't
fill it fast enough
with seed.
they passed the word around.
and they
came in droves,
in flocks,
and then
i took it down when it was
just me.
but
what stories they
must have told each other,
winter into spring.
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