Consider the birds.
That would be nice.
But the World demands care like a tantrum-throwing toddler.
Like a languishing old woman buzzing the nurses station.
Would she were a child.
Born again of blood and fire.
But the World, she wants and wants, and wants more.
Always gasping and grasping like a greedy old miser.
Still the birds, they hop.
Expecting. Not doubting.