The birds scoff in mass
As I watch them
And they watch me
They carry grain in which to feed
And I drink mine elsewhere from my glass.
Such a simple lot
They must think
As they watch me from their tree
A crowning achievement to humanity?
I think not.
This town is blossoming
Yet, I remain the same
With noone to relate it to
( And life is surely meant for two)
I dread the coming Spring.
