There is this black bird I see,
It creeps around on top a chimney.
It feeds on wrappers from litter
At which I sigh, for it is bitter
To see such a creature to be so black
Searching for what it will lack
More frequently, despite history.
But for my view this is a new hope,
For this isolation I cannot cope.
I’m pretty sure most would prefer
A sky with changing clouds over a brick wall
That is as dull as a book with no pages.