Chirp chirp buzz buzz
What's the word, what's the fuss,
Summer comes, ice sickles go,
Looking towards, leaving what was,
Another dead flower seeding for tomorrow,
Another dead flower on a plate tomorrow, ground up and medicating the sorrow.
Wacky weeds, a special delight,
The neighbors wince at my wild flowers plight,
But the birds approve of this natural light,
Worms churning up an appetite,
The unsung hero's of nature's underground fight,
But back to the birds, the things of beauty. Singing tranquility and romance through the sonic portals of proximity. Dancing through the layers of heat and humidity to make a home.
Talk about purpose. It appears that the insight from the natural process can tell us more about how to be a better human than the stories of humans itself.
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