Like a wafting aroma black birds cross the gray sky;

an early morning lull except for the song [theirs] up high.

Fluctuating journey – the treetops – feathers awry;

Is the wind beckoning, inspiring the black birds to fly?

After the rains flooded the lawn, the hungry black birds drop by –

Creating WOOSH SWOOSH – the flock descended, BONZAI!

In the A.M. black birds linger in the trees and sing, perhaps cry

For love, communion, standing guard…the birds warble, oh my.

When the black birds forage what do they see out of the corner of the eye,

That makes them rise up as one mind, a collective sigh…?

--the solitary starling was perched on top of the street light, so spry…

Was this starling part of the “group” or was it just shy [?]…

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