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CYCLE
There lives a weird bird of winter
Youthfully feathered in a floral dress
and loose mauve cardigan
she migrates to the backyard in summer
perching high above the clothesline
preying on tea towels in mid flight
nesting peaceful within unmade beds
the eggs are laid fledglings take flight
weird birds flock to winter
seasons are cyclic nothing ever changes
except wheelchairs are electric now
and disused boney fingers drag open
back wire doors flinging stale toast
crusts to a million infested starlings |