A tale I wrote
For years, Babs wanted to draw a bird,
but every time she got close to one,
found a spot to sit, unsheathed her pencils
and secured her easel,
they’d fly away.
She refused to take it personally,
but it happened every single time.
She refused to take it personally.
Once or twice, though,
she was convinced a blue tit
swore at her as it left.
She refused to take it personally.
She refused to take it personally.
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