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Late Bloomer

Baby Bird

Late in the season
For a wee, little bird;
His life cycle off,
The seasons are blurred.

The fledglings of spring
Are heading on out
For the southerly climes
On an annual route.

While this little guy
With flutters will try
To meet the occasion –
With other birds fly.

He’s a month yet to grow –
Before it’s too late
And unable to go.

His parents shortsighted,
No troubles foresaw,
In circumstance trapped
By the luck of the draw.

Published inPoetry

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