Birds
They've come again, my feathered friends
to bob and weave amid the seed.
Kamikaze bombers they
who swoop down feet first to land,
munch some seed, swoop again
and fly away.
Silly squabbling squawkers peck and toss
sunflower seeds to those who wait
outside the fray.
Wonder how they feel today ...
do they know what delight they bring
to old eyes that need to dance?
Do they have a sense of their own majesty
or is that left for humans to know
and watch how quickly it does go
away on a spring current.
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