Wednesday, November 23, 2016

8889. BIRD

I will be me until I die, or,
anyway, I shall try. I am not
happy all the time; sometimes
I get sad, and sad enough to cry.
There'a broken wing-tip flyer at
my window now; just another
bird that cannot sing. What 
should I do when I do not
know? I cannot do a thing.

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