the quiet poetry of birds

the birds don't know they are poetry
ever-present wild winged monks that they are
oblivious to mindlessness and repression that make rogue cells and heart attacks and hypertension
but
vulnerable, so vulnerable, to the smallest cut, the tiniest virus, the well-fed household cat
delicate and breakable
but
strong and fierce and bold

feathered frenzies of persistence
quiet moments of peace

This is my entry for the #monomad challenge, held daily in the Black and White Community.
Give it a try.

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