The bird
A bird sat on the windowsill
And saw,
We are running after metals and papers.
A bird never understood.
It flew to eat a nice juicy maggot.
A kitty named “Zelda”
Her paws, soft, are upon fallen gold
Of rustling foliage. Cold sundown
Turns around to a shadowy cottage.
A cottage with a coach and love-strokes
On the kitty back, softly, softly.
“Zelda”
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