I recently deleted most of my poetry archives. This poem has been quite popular with people I know in that strange place that is called “everyday life,” so now reposting it.
Looking after spirit birds is now my full-time job:
A chance to show I care for birds
Who fell out of their nest in spring,
And birds that spent their life in cages
Pecking what they’re given,
And birds spat out by hunting cats,
And birds that float on top of ponds,
Birds alive a minute ago,
And baby birds with open mouths
That starve so easily.