The birds appear to chat
on the grassy moss patch
that has crawled over the harbor
at low tide like a map
*
They bob their heads and ponder
their eyes flicker but don’t wander
as they fly back to their island homes
in straw nests above the monsters.
*
The moss grows up the tree trunk
as the leaves come spilling in
comfort and shade in the spring
the harsh winter sun burned their wings.
*
The world comes alive but animals don’t thank it
humans wonder why they take it for granted
as we kill it with our metal machines
roosting in homes that made forests barren.
About the Creator
Matt Dwyer
Recent college grad. I write about pop culture, politics, travel, mental health, and more
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Matt Dwyer and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.