In the quiet between the roar of the city,
birds chirp news
amid the cacophony we
barely hear it
and cannot fully
appreciate it
chirping of language we cannot translate
and must guess about
not seemingly annoyed
as to them we hardly
exist
despite the grumbling
of our overpowered machines
and the screech of our overloaded voices
understanding us better than we do them,
knowing to avoid us,
ignore us, or fly away
when we venture to
near,
the chirping we hear
clear
about something other
than our world
talk of Love perhaps
or hunger
or some measure of gossip we
might not think them capable of
their lives seemingly
so petty
as compared to ours,
less significant in
the scheme of things
and I wonder are they
at all like us
filled with the same
petty jealousy
the same outrage
do they comment on
their world condition
the way we do about
ours
or are they beyond all that
accepting what occurs
without blame
taking for granted life comes and goes
just as the seasons
do
when we cannot
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