Relative Something

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In the early morning hour
when the birds are making song
as daylight’s seeping in
and nothing else is moving
it feels rather sacred
a gift of being alive
a kingdom truly magic
through no doing of our own
which we walk in like we own it
rarely noticing we don’t
and we fill our world with noise
that reflects our many works
while birds just keep on singing
they watch us do our worst

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