devoid of void

That little bird
Sitting on apple-tree twig,
Singing for wormsies,
Twitching its tail —
Is a centre of cosmos
Filled with magnificent things:
Grey sky and breezes
Chaotic songs of the pidgeons
And clipped conversations
Of the kestrels looking for mice
The scurry of beetles and ants
And the dance of grasses.
Nothing is just
There. I said it out loud.
Now jackdaws harass
A perfect young crow
As the earth plods on by the sun.

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