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Three Birds

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Three birds perched on a branch
warbled in angelic harmony,
just as the good Lord intended.

The bluebird sat left, sang bass.
The hummingbird sat middle, sang tenor.
The cardinal sat right, sang soprano.

'Spite of the good Lord’s ceaseless smile
at the sweet, sweet silvery song,
the birds' hearts writhed in envy.

"I have grown tired of the view
from my position on the far left,"
said the bluebird to the others.

"As have I," said the cardinal.
"I long to escape the far right and
see the world from another angle."

"As have I," said the hummingbird.
"If only I could see the world with
some detail. Middle is so mundane."

Three birds perched on a branch
warbled in angelic harmony,
not as the good Lord intended.

The bluebird sat middle, sang bass.
The cardinal sat right, sang tenor.
The hummingbird sat left, sang soprano.

In spite of the good Lord’s sporadic smile
at the sweet, sweet song,
the birds' hearts writhed in envy.

"I have grown tired of the low
notes I sing as the bass of the trio,"
said the bluebird to the others.

"As have I," said the cardinal.
"I long to escape the high notes and
sing to the world at a different pitch."

"As have I," said the hummingbird.
"If only I could sing very high
or very low. Tenor is so mundane."

Three birds perched on a branch
warbled in angelic harmony,
not at all as the good Lord intended.

The bluebird sat middle, sang tenor.
The cardinal sat right, sang soprano.
The hummingbird sat left, sang bass.

Despite of the good Lord’s occasional smile
at the sweet song,
the birds' hearts writhed in envy.

“I have grown tired of the blue
feathers I am covered with,”
said the bluebird to the others.

“As have I,” said the cardinal.
“I long to escape my red feathers and
show the world a different color.”

“As have I,” said the hummingbird.
“If only I was one single color,
not a mix. Multicolored is so mundane.”

“But how will we change our colors?
It is impossible to switch feathers!”
the three birds asked simultaneously.

“Thou shalt not change thy colors,”
proclaimed the soaring eagle
before descending upon the birds.

Three birds devoured by an eagle
rotted in angelic tranquility,
just as the good Lord intended.

The bluebird sat in perdition, sang nothing.
The cardinal sat in perdition, sang nothing.
The hummingbird sat in perdition, sang nothing.

‘Spite Satan’s incessant smile
at the sweet, sweet silvery silence,
the good Lord smiled besides, but bittersweetly,

because his beautiful birds’ breasts
beat in bountiful bitterness
of others bents no more.





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