The nights were short,
A clear summer, long and hot,
A chickadee visited every dawn,
And caught a stunning view by the pane.
Maybe my nest’s walls knew,
A fluffy gray-black chick who—
Lit the sun pointed to my nest house—
Captured my morning drowse.
A courageous little skylark,
With a notorious chirp crack,
She repeatedly taps my pane,
And sharply beeps, in rhythmic strain.
Pulled...
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