By Girard Tournesol
Like a skate’s icy spray
a charm of goldfinches bathed
in powdered snow at the feeder
feathers a dull winter maze
My mind wanders to an aria of canary
caged in some pet store menagerie,
plastic castles in wood chips
their songs of freedom
I see countless people buying them,
taking one home in a cage
when the right thing to do is buy them all
and set them free
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