The greys, the blacks, the blues, the reds
They land amongst my flower beds
All covered now, with mounds of white
A singing songing hue’d delight
Three walk the paths, and now three more
Just outside my garden door
And several come, and several go
Hung feeders rocking to and fro
The storm is clearly tired now
About to take its final bow
The birds have come in search of food
So grateful for this interlude
I note the birds who often fight
O’er food and space and who is right
Whilst flocking with like-colored tribes
And giving off ‘you’re different’ vibes
Now they gather all together
Color blind birds of all feather
In tough times I see… an understanding.
And smile at Nature’s slight of handing.
Thanks for readin’.
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