asks the little bird.
"Because," I say,
"they told me all these
things are real."
"Are they?"
the little bird asks.
"Who are you to ask
me such a thing?" I say.
"Why don't you ask me
why I sing?"
the little bird asks.
"What's the point?
I know why you sing," I say.
"You do?"
the little bird asks.
"Of course," I say.
"Why?"
the little bird asks.
"Instinct," I say.
"And do your instincts
tell you that these
things are real?"
the little bird asks.
". . . No," I say.
And I begin to sing.
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
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