Somewhere Else The Birds Are Singing


He managed to open the shutters a little way
but the gap was smaller than he expected.
He eased his head and shoulders inside.
The rest of him,
his arse and legs,
remained outside
covered in a blanket
then, as dawn broke,
covered once more
by a blanket of early spring snow.

He was hungry.
He was always hungry.

​Somewhere the birds are singing
he thought
somewhere else
the birds are singing.


https://www.poetryxhunger.com/international-poets/poems-by-lynn-white

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