Birds Pick Up their Songs

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Birds pick up their songs from where they left off last fall
A ceaseless barrage of whistles, chirps, and calls
The grass that was five o’clock shadow is now a scruffy beard
A woodpecker begins to drum in a new year
Glass glistens on fresh blacktop under an overbearing sun
a safety orange bottle cap burrows where a strand of paths come undone
Moths, flies, and gnats buzz about putting on an aerial show
They glide down and float around like a springtime snow
In six months the leaves will die and autumn will storm in all too fast
But now the air still radiates life, and I’ll enjoy it while it lasts





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