Make Hay
Make hay!
Meant the macaw's epiphany
Coming in propinquity of the demesne
Pondering the erstwhile efflorescence of dalliance, she chirped
The bucolic redolent was everywhere, smelling petrichor in the air
This land is her home, she whistled with serenpidity
Harbinger of ephemeral life, she chattered:
While the sun shines,
Make hay!
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