The Place of Repose

The feathered bird flips lightly on the low bough and peers

Suspiciously at fronds of smoke waving past his ears

Roundly Red and pale Peach bellies, proudly hide and seek

Circling hoard of humans who visit once a week

Curiously they walk below, felling trunks, digging peat

Bouncing round the fire waving sticks with things to eat

Harmlessly they shape our wood into a tiny home

A private nest, motionless, watching while Red roams.

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