He seems content to stay a while and rest,
And my front porch is cool with shade,
Sun moving to the west.
On other days I’ve seen him flit and fly
And labor quite industriously
For food that caught his eye.
And then he’d pick at wings and clean and preen,
Then dart away and back again,
Quite nervous did he seem.
He’d change his stance and cock head constantly,
Not holding still a moment long;
He agitated me.
But, suddenly, this eve he’s come to sit.
As if he knows my sorrowful plight —
That I am in this pit.
And now and then he sings aloud his song.
But when he stops to rest a while,
For much more do I long.
I’m sure his day is…
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