The thundercloud of small beating wings
Signals the approach of flying things
Death is the only song the flock sings
Strange what such a simple sickness
brings
Yet there - between us and them - it
sits
Temptation just too great to resist
Avian plans just cease and desist
Our fates delayed, our good fortune
kissed
A freshly washed car summons each bird
Beating wings stop and silence is heard
Could it be that the disease is cured?
Nope. They just had to take a small...
break.
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