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NATURE Poem: THE NEXT, by H.D. Ellington
A thing with wings
has made its home
upon my home.
It places, in
the gutter crook
the stuff it took,
picked piece by piece,
what once was mine
(fluff, paper, twine).
It questions me
with darting eyes.
Then, off it flies.
So, out of sight,
I peer, inspect,
where we connect.
And see more wings
tucked in its home
upon our home.
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