Black shadows in surrounding trees
Wait for the provider on January mornings,
For one who holds a few of the keys
To avian winter survival.
Water, seeds, nuts and fat,
Bread if it’s brown and crumbs of cake,
Break the ice, shoo the cat,
First of jobs on a January morning.
A blackbird flies to the apple basket,
Pecks and pecks again and again,
The sweetness of summer it’s her task to eat,
To carry her on to vernal survival.
As dusk descends I hope they’re full,
Warm for the night, fluffed on their roosts.
Waiting for morning and the golden jewels
Flaming above the horizon, their signal for flight.
MSK
It's September tomorrow so winter is on its way.
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