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I watched them touch and pluck the string chords, applauding their own softly simple melodies, well snuggled in their cosy nest. I observed it in the service of science, as a visitor from another planet. To stand beholding fashion finery fills me with ill-omened envy - as if I've marked them as the dark representatives of a privileged elite - eaters who wastefully squander the rationed quota. I note too how I missed out on this, in the distant past, while childhood lasted. The most close we ever came was upstairs, in a sparing embrace from which parents were omitted.      Such love (it seems) I didn't make them feel,      but were my looks devoid of such appeal?