Soaring up, caught by a draught,
Up more, up again, as I soared I laughed.
There I am down there, the other one of me.
The collective bird brain does not know you, does not know me.
Two parts of the same soul caught by the single wind.
What are those spots down there? Asked one of me the other.
Ah! humans in the garden of life, replied one of me to the other.
They strut to assert themselves to prove they are not one soul.
Ah! The simplicity of the bird brain, the joy of the common goal.
Comments about this poem (Bird Brain by Alan Bruce Thompson )
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