I grant you three overused words can never do justice to the way my heart depends on the continued beating of yours
But why, **** you could you not have gone hunting for rarer birds taken a risk with words Netted a guillemot. A tern, a crane even a toucan Written a second rate poem if I can you can Conjured forth that secure base with a bedtime story for your empress of penguins your queen of hippopotamuses your borrower girl
One day, even soon that flock will have lifted not to fly south, not to return and there'll be no more lifting and swooping, no joy in the swerve of a turn mid-air no undertones, no attempts to colonise no smiling eyes
I'll be standing alone under an empty sky there'll be nothing to look at in wonder or borrow or any asking why
Doing justice is what murmurations are for how you've done them and more You showed us the world and the joy of flying - and look here I am trying to do it too but three little starlings will do A starling for each of your little darlings Three overused words in a league of their own I know it's beneath you but see I am beneath you I'm down here, just here, I'm no longer hiding and red herrings are cheaper.