The Brown Thrasher

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With her dark-spotted belly and gold-dagger eye,

She's one of the noblest birds I can find.

She flaps red-brown wings, lands on soft earth,

To nibble rich seeds from the rain-soaked dirt.

When she unleashes a crackle of song, it sounds like

Human lips smacking in satisfaction—

Joined by a faint, royally prissy whine

And the coarse jester's laugh in reaction.

As I face her, she faces me in silence,

Knowing my jumpy human eyes beg for a bird's guidance

On things that I've banished to cloud-castles and star-smeared dreams.

She gathers a dark seed and soars away, leaving me

With the faint memory of being. 

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