How It Is, How It Once Was Poem by Patti Masterman

I used to think the sky was filled with birds,
Of all the rarest kinds;
And birds clear out of season,
Out of zone, and out of reason.

I used to muse the world was full of minds
That spoke a certain kind
Of written language; as within a book;
Never could resist, a second look.

Now grown up, my mind is filled with birds,
Disguised as books and porpoises,
And bread and circus tortoises;
Sorry I always fall in love, with words.