The birds here at my new house at first might look the same,
rats with wings, fleeting things, although not quite so tame.
They may fly, sing, soar and squawk and even sound the same,
But the birds back at the old place, put these new ones to shame.
Yes, they may be more colorful, plentiful and varied.
But I'd trade these yellow finches for the way the robin carried
her dignity, her poise, her noise, the way she never tarried;
building a nest on my back porch for the lover she had married.
These new birds live in the woods and come soaring down for seed.
They play and fuss and sometimes fight, all to feed their greed.
The blue birds chase the cardinals who have gathered here to feed,
They chase them off but can't eat now, with the finches filling their needs.
They remind me of corporate raiders, and the plots they often hatch,
But instead of penthouse suites they make their plans from a nest of thatch.
So I really miss the old birds, the ones I used to watch.
Though the new ones might be colorful, they're simply not a match....
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