Birds shriek loud this Sunday morn.
Intrigued, I cozy to the window
To witness the coup,
Grey feathers flapping,
Bitter birds tapping
At dirt and seed
My partner, weeks before, threw.
Hunger brings out my wild, too.
I open the window and toss seeds,
Like mardi gras beads
Into dust and weeds,
And watch the congregation
Chirp like a choir on a Sunday morn.
Oh, how I love Sundays,
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