Before I am awakened by the demands of the day,
Someone releases a flock of birds from its cage
In all directions, each heading its separate way
Securing in their bosoms their mistress’ message.
When I check, on waking up, my cellular device,
To see what the little bird has to say this morn,
Oft times I find a joke awaiting, seldom advice
On things too abstract for the bird to have borne.
I draft my response and confide it with the little bird,
In hope that my words would reach her soon,
Who every morn, sings her feelings to be heard
By all she loves, expecting their replies by noon.
Designed for use by every man, every day in excess,
This flock of little birds calls itself, the SMS.
Originally shared with a friend in the Winter of 2016