Outside My Window Xi Poem by Frank Avon

It's lunchtime at the bird feeders.
Quite a crowd today.
The feeding spots are contested.
They'e having to learn to share.
The flock of sparrows, of course,
who make their resting place nearby
(sometimes their nesting place, too)
in the twirling vines of the wisteria
that are so dense you can't see through them
until - usually as a flock of four or five -
they flit and flitter away, soon to return.

But demanding his place
at the diner -
in fact, ruling the roost,
is my friend the goldfinch,
a dandy little cockerel,
perhaps now a proud papa,

and with him, today,
for the first time in a week or so,
his mate - with a difference.
She's positively glowing.
Her wings, ussally dull and drab,
among the sparrows sparkle.
And her breast - it's golden,
almost as resplendent as
her 'peacock' of a consort.

Could there now be nestlings?
When they take flight,
as she does quickly
and he soon thereafter,
they head southward
several trees down the street
as they always do.

If only they could know
how much they are treasured,
if only they'd let us
help protect their young ones
from all the dangers
young ones face.

But that's not the way
goldfinch are made,
and dangers are inherent
in being such fragile birdlings,

as, in one way or another,
they are for all creatures.
So I shall sit in silence,
just grateful, in this moment,
for the blessing of their presence
and all the presents I've been given,
all the blessings.
Let it be. Let it be.