A Year of Poems – Day 102

We have grown fat on buttered bread
sweetened with honey thickly spread.
The songbird hops grounded by greed,
anchored from a surplus of good gifts.
One more crumb falls beneath his eye,
mimicking his cousin magpie,
he rushes to another jewel
to grace his great and lavish nest
of feathers growing at his breast.
The bird feeds with a shriveled heart
shrunk to a seed left on the road.
Let the ground soften,
so the seed may grow.

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