Repetition
The beautiful bird hits the glass window.
Then it stutters, then its swoops, then it flies.
The bird circles, up from below,
The new days light glistening in its eyes.
The foolish naive bird that's trapped inside,
Within the cage that its made for itself.
Though we open windows and try to chide
It merely chirps as it sits on the shelf
And the bird never sees the glass coming,
But beautifully approaches it so.
Not worried about pains so alarming
only focused on the sun all aglow.
And sadly the open exit there lies
The bird stutters, then it swoops, then- it dies.
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