The sun rises, and there I am,
another moving spec.
The sun is bright,
but it is more light than warm.
The sun is shining and the
birds are singing-
laughing their goal.
I go about my day as I would any other;
nothing special about today.
To them, I am
Just marching around in rows.
If only they had someone
to look down upon them.
As I get into my truck,
A drop falls from the sky
landing on my head.
I feel the warmth and wetness of
As I run my fingers through the
jungle of my own hair,
I peer into the sky above me.
Could it have been?
Is it possible?
What are the odds?
As the unfortunate conclusion pours
into my head,
the angry realization flows over my face.
A bird pooped on my head!
"Ces't la vie" the French say.
Well, a bird has obviously never pooped
on the head of a Frenchman.
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- late one night
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- C'est la vie
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