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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