I think I've finally found my tribe
A school of red-headed finches
Who like me for my dandelion feasts
The gold I've turned to dusty seeds
Laid out for them each morning
We are a serious studious lot
Even if we hop about
From text to text precisely
Studying the light ever watchful
Of the dangers of being on the ground
From which we now and then
Ascend as one into the harboring tree
Our fears transformed to prayers
Our longings into lusty songs
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