The Birds

They frolic in the sky above
with endless, boundless glee
as sunlight shines on feathered wings:
the birds don’t know we’re quarantined.

Their freedom is not limited
by laws or broad decrees,
and so they fly without constraint:
the birds can’t know we’re quarantined.

They perch on fences with their friends
to chirp and chat so free,
but when I look they fly away:
the birds may know we’re quarantined.

They sing their songs with silver tune
and dance upon the trees
as if they mean to lift my soul:
the birds must know we’re quarantined.

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