Three lively birds I spot in the tree,
bouncing from branch to branch,
chirping gleefully.
Sat on my own perch in my yard,
curious to their little lives,
I observe them through damp lashes.
How is their life different from mine?
Do they feel as worn as I, or
are they hopeful, happy, content?
Without an answer or theory,
I return, depleted, back to bed.
When all hope seemed lost
and the birds flew away,
two strangers appear at my door to knock.
Dressed in their Sunday best,
they stood in wait, calm and polite,
and asked me the same question
I'd been wondering about life.
"Do you think life can be enjoyed forever?"
The question they posed.
I say no, thinking of three birds of a feather.
They preach the words of a god I do not know,
the irony unmissable. Still, politely, I engage,
but ultimately turn to let them go.
Wind chimes on the porch
don't sing anymore,
not because they can't,
but there is no breeze for them to sing for.
Standing isolated in my home,
with tears in my eyes,
it's so strange that three birds and two strangers
intersected at the crossroads of mine.
Maybe I'm not so alone in this life.
For a moment the wind blows,
and the chimes sing their song
to three birds and two strangers,
before the wind moves on.
1d ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 12:49 AM UTC
Three lively birds I spot in the tree,
bouncing from branch to branch,
chirping gleefully.
Sat on my own perch in my yard,
curious to their little lives,
I observe them through damp lashes.
How is their life different from mine?
Do they feel as worn as I, or
are they hopeful, happy, content?
Without an answer or theory,
I return, depleted, back to bed.
When all hope seemed lost
and the birds flew away,
two strangers appear at my door to knock.
Dressed in their Sunday best,
they stood in wait, calm and polite,
and asked me the same question
I'd been wondering about life.
"Do you think life can be enjoyed forever?"
The question they posed.
I say no, thinking of three birds of a feather.
They preach the words of a god I do not know,
the irony unmissable. Still, politely, I engage,
but ultimately turn to let them go.
Wind chimes on the porch
don't sing anymore,
not because they can't,
but there is no breeze for them to sing for.
Standing isolated in my home,
with tears in my eyes,
it's so strange that three birds and two strangers
intersected at the crossroads of mine.
Maybe I'm not so alone in this life.
For a moment the wind blows,
and the chimes sing their song
to three birds and two strangers,
before the wind moves on.
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