the six-foot fence,
dark, wet, and covered with moss
and lichen,
bears the cheery little
"Welcome" sign,
and I do not feel welcomed:
these birds,
they have secrets,
they know things about things,
and they know things about me --
they move so quickly
because they are constantly
picking up new bits of information --
more secrets,
and they have a lot of ground
to cover, before they meet
in the secret bird conclave:
"There's fresh worms in the graveyard,"
whispers one robin,
pleased to share
a really good secret.
June 7, 2009.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
6/8/09
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