Flirty bird

I fought this poem the entire way and, as usual, the poem won:

The chirp of the flirty bird curls lightly on the flesh--
and they who hear 
absorb the vibrant end
of the birdy's sonic thread.
Apart from the howl
and hoot,
in a parcel of ample space,
the sweet bird embraces
a rhythmic tufted bop
and binds the living race.
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The funny dread

The beast, it takes its fill.
Mother frowns and shakes her till.

And...

there the mites are a'mourning.
Trembling few,
ensconced in warning.

The funny dread of complicit rage
be the muted distress 
of every age.

And we,
you and me all the while
bear benefit and burden
with lacquered smile.

As for those who fight
we may wonder on their lives:
if their struggle be a light?
Or but a flippant lie?