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very morning they
wake me up, they never needed a battery or tuning up yet they sang the best of
tunes and a new one every time. Sometimes I used to wait for my alarm to sing,
wait with my eyes wide open fixed upon
the windows that over look the massive trees. They were my little feathered
friends, ever hungry and ever trying to be the early bird. There chirping's wake
me up every day. An hour of their songs makes my day.
One
morning I woke up with their songs filled with terror and sorrow, for they were
no songs but helpless plea of my little friends. I ran to my window and
“timber” was he sound I heard and the crashing of the last massive fauna that stood. It was no more
a tree, it’s a log now soon to be shredded into pieces of wood. I don’t know
where my little friends went I never saw them again. I wake up every day
throwing this irritating piece of metal which wakes me up every time with its
ghostly alarm tone.
Concrete
jungle surrounds me now and I can’t hear a single song throughout the day. I’ve
let down my little feathered friends along with those trees. Too late to
realize “I’m a featherless bird in a concrete cage”
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