A little bird sat on the window sill
Holding onto the last petal of flower that nature had left.
Humanity is vanishing,
With the strike of covid_19. ...
Browning, old fellow,
Your leaves grow yellow,
Beginning to mellow
As seasons pass.
Your cover is wrinkled,
And stained and sprinkled,
And warped and crinkled
From sleep on the grass.
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