There’s a sparrow on the ridge tile,

and a pigeon on the chimney,

both holding conversations

with friends I cannot see.

The sparrow chirps,

the pigeon coos,

and between the two

they spread the news,

that cats are about;

the feeders refilled;

there’s water in the drinks bowl,

tepid, not chilled;

or just twittering ‘cause they’re happy,

and cooing because they will—

now they’ve gone and flown off,

and I am sat here, still.

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