how suddenly
they give up
their limbs
to the hard beaks
of sparrows
who hastily
carry them away
like pale cigars
the starlings hunt them too
up in the green pyramidals,
stabbed to death
with able chisels
all these deaths
and no one weeps,
no mournful regrets or tributes
we save that
for our own kind it seems
why is that we deny
the many signs
of our own mortality
leaping willingly
across the sun baked lawns?
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