A simple Sunday poem
~*~*~*~
I watch the sunshine birds,
through wisp of coffee steam.
Their tiny beaks jab, jabbing.
Little spots of happiness
trickling down their throats
Then they flit away without the
grace to give notice or
whisper of their plans.
Unbridled freedom in each
bone of their wings
Below them lay seeds, enough
have dropped to grow a garden
of flowers and lost dreams
each once glittered with hope
now they're discarded, forgotten
~*~*~*~
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