There’s panic in the garden
this morning. Standing at the sink
barely awake I see a flurry
of activity before me. Sparrows
hopping mad, intruders! they
squawk, flying back and forth
to alert. My tired eyes focus, slowly
to see two giant blackbirds
like two burly bouncers guarding
the birdhouse, not tonight, love.
Their puffed-out bravado means
they barely fit inside. The small
birds are frantic, all the good stuff
will be gone. I almost rap
the window to shoo them away
then remember the children
on the lawn the other day.
Eight tiny blackbirds not
sitting in a row more scattered
around the garden pecking
to and fro. This must be mam
and dad. I give them a minute
to fill their beaks. The sparrows
are pleading do something, quick
but there’s no need. Mam flies
to the roof, dad shortly follows.
Lessons have been learned
this chilly May morning.
Everyone has a place at the birdhouse.
There’s enough for all
big and small. I’ll put extra
~The H Word~
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