The supermarket’s veggie bins
Are really cold. I look around
Wondering if the others are as
Oppressed by the neon lights and plastic
Do they too feel a nameless dread?
Back home, I spy through the window
A diligent bulbul building her nest
Delicate movements transform
Twigs and thread into a home
Standing there entranced
Weary ennui of the morning dissolves
Filling me with a rush of tenderness.
love the way warm hope and cold dread play against each other in this poem
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