The Bird

There used to be this bird

Outside my window

And every time I would open the window

He would chirp

Sometimes a lot

Sometimes a little

But he would always chirp

So it got to where I looked forward

To his little chirps

Every time my hands

Would grip the window frame

I would anticipate his song

I wanted to hear his voice

His opinion

I liked this little bird

But one day

I opened the window

And heard nothing

I could still see the bird

Hidden among the branches

But heard nothing

It was the same the next day

And the next

The bird stopped caring

Why?

I’m not sure

Even so

I continue to open the window

Every time

Hoping to hear a little chirp

But all I get is silence

This poem was written about a friend of mine. Hopefully if they read it, they’ll know who they are.

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