Make nests around the house,
About five exist under the carport,
More barn swallows, no grouse,
All flitting to and fro, feeding their young,
Bird poo everywhere,
He tells me tales of their activities,
Proudly, like he's making them his new heirs,
Which wouldn't bother me, actually,
They give him such a high.
Once, when one flew over his head five times,
It meant mom wouldn't die,
Of course she did,
But he still loves them there,
They are his friends and he takes care of them,
Knowing they're with him makes me feel less scared.
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