Distributing Stale Bread

On the Feeding of Parisian Birds

Ecoute bien mes petites oisoux
Like the cat who does not live with me
You cannot count on me to feed you

To toss stale bread or offer bowls of water
As I am only passing through your life as you
Pass through mine

If you catch my eye by the way you flutter past
And I reward you with a morsel, or don't,
That is just the way it is for us both

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