Thursday, March 1, 2018

Still Feeding Birds


I wonder what they think of me,
The looming shadow in the window,
The tall frail form

That slowly steps outside
And fills the plastic tubes
With tasty seeds.

None looks old enough
To know what life was like
Without me here.

Most are very careful
To fly away at sight
Or hide in nearby shrubs.

But if I stand stock still,
Pretend that I’m a statue,
Not a threat,

They come back to their feast,
Filling up against the cold,
Converting my love into life.

®2018 John I. Blair, 2/25/2018

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