then only a few birds would sing.
even in Spring.
the ones they picked.
the other birds would mope in the trees.
perhaps they would give up flying entirely.
the little sparrows on the sidewalks
by the rain puddles
not even hopping.
the birds that made it would get all the worm prizes.
juicier and fatter worms as time went on.
they would burst their seams.
what a lot of feathers.
how silent in April.
mary angela douglas 8 february 2015