Breaking the useless secret

If someone was to climb on that roof, fragile tinkling tiles all covered with moss, at thirty feet from the ground, watch carefully that special spot on the ridge, he could discover the remains of a meal, tiny pieces of nutshell, bread crumbles, the juice from berries or a fat worm, on that one special spot a shy bird brought his catch to eat it fast, with fervor, spying right and left for any danger, or meal snatcher, ten seconds in front of my window i've watched at that exact moment to pick up the short scene, and had that thought, the secret of that bird probably won't be discovered, what gain there is, except i was there and now i'm selling the truth.