Each morning the feeders are empty
and the wild birds are chattering on
while they are waiting, watching, wondering,
where in the hell has she gone?
Still they sing high in the treetops
their calls trill with joyous wild abandon
Calling to one another, their sisters and brothers
with mellifluous songs sung at random
They don’t know that hate and war exists,
or the craziness of today’s unbelievable news
all they care about is they have no seed, nothing to eat
And for them it’s the end of their perfect world.
Imaginary Garden with real Toads: Weekend Mini Challenge- Oh, the (Poetic) Irony!
Magaly has asked us to choose 1 or all three of satire rich cartoons from
The New Yorker to inspire us to write a poem. Here is the one I chose:
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