Tree tops flutter with the call
of birds at dusk roosting home.
We, like 10 birds on a branch,
(18, if we count the chicks),
jostle and, screech our news too -
of flights we've made, worms we've caught.
We know which tree to fly to -
a special space among friends,
making this tree home, not that.
And so..., but so..., just so..., if
my fellow feathered friends choose
other trees on other shores...
If I'm left, one bird, alone
Can I still call this tree home?
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