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the small blue eggs wait, cradled in a nest of twigs and cat hair
their mother has flown out for a bit,
to grab a bite to eat after keeping her babies warmcozysnug for
pecking at the ground, auburn beak
full of squishy pink worm, finally sated.
Then a harsh breeze comes and
the smoothsmallskyblue: perfect eggs
launched from their tenderlyanxiouslylaboriously made haven.
they’re not ready for this and
they land
Smashed. To. Bits.
on the moss-covered ground
pieces of eggshell, yolk, a scramble
the mother flew out for a bit and,
a breeze came.

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