Singing In Springtime

It sounds like I am on hold.
Or the ring of a dying phone.
The cell in my hand is silent.
My laptop before me behaves.

Beyond the window a blue bird,
a new-to-me type, plays statue
in the budding young maple.
It hops and warbles a song unfamiliar.

Perhaps it's eaten a robotic worm.
Maybe I'm swallowed by technology.

It's been too long since spring last.
Time to fine tune these ears of mine.

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