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  • Writer's pictureby Essence Diaries

Early Bird

Young bird,

Early bird,

Calling out his mates.

Saw him twice,

Saw him trice,

On my garden bench.

I smiled with glee,

With friendly voice

And a new-found me,

“Good morn, little friend”

I said,

“How glorious it is to be free!”

Early bird

Chirped again,

Ruffled his feathers,

And dropped a turd,

And off he went

'Till his chirps could no more be heard.


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