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The restless effort of a little bird
Adds beauty to the decaying world
When it aptly collects twigs, brown
And straws of bead, one by one
It builds a nest mathematically precise
Not using any artificial device
Its beak works like tongs
When it's not singing songs
Its quest and zeal are its solution
Act like fuel, free from pollution
It’s an architect, a musician
And a bird, in compact cohesion
Its little feathers never rest
Always ready for any test
And when wrong winds are blown
They go “back to twig one”
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