Birds in a dead tree –
Two, eight there at the same time yesterday.
Mostly still, but adjusting their tail feathers to the breeze.
Swivelling their heads sometimes.
A grey sky, with blue and dirty white.
Birds in a dead tree –
Two, eight there at the same time yesterday.
Mostly still, but adjusting their tail feathers to the breeze.
Swivelling their heads sometimes.
A grey sky, with blue and dirty white.
johncarrollpoems 