A garden of feathers

Blackbirds, jackdaws,
Sparrows, a wren,
All have visited
In my short sitting.

A solitary robin,
Cautious and slow,
The cheeky jackdaw
Stealing my toast.

I love the blackbirds,
How they skip and hop,
The adults sleek,
The young all fluff.

The sparrow twittering,
Too loud for it size.
The wren even smaller
Hidden by the hedge.

The crows are cackling,
But out of sight,
Planning some scheme,
To happen tonight.

No pigeons today,
Not even a coo,
No unbalanced wobbling,
Or mating call.

The starlings arrive
In a chattering swarm,
Fifty at once
Then gone without warn.

A silent coal tit,
Sitting content on the tree,
With bright wings and black head,
Looking down at me.

But that’s not even half
Of the birds that could be
Chilling in the garden
Today with me.

Not a swallow or chaffinch,
Nor magpies or jay.
Fortunately no sparrowhawk
Causing the others dismay.

On a rare occasion,
I might see snipe,
Or imagine a puffin
Smoking a pipe

Alive with activity,
If you just stop look,
So many birds,
They could fill a small book.


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