Purple finch in my hanging flower pot,
why do you build your nest in such a precarious spot?
Each time I open my door and pass by,
to a nearby tree, in panic, you do fly.
The wind tosses your vessel like a ship upon the sea,
yet here you choose to place your eggs, not in a sturdy tree.
Perhaps we have much in common, my little friend,
each striving for security, and when the wind
threatens to send us crashing to the earth,
we cling tenaciously for all we’re worth.
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