Hot bread on the windowsill,
a round-out crumbling banquet
as the Sparrow, Goldfinch, Blue Tit
don their finest topcoats.
The white and the grey, the reflection of blue pools,
thought and patience.
Wholemeal, rye and blackburn,
tin-topped feet find a merry, merry, dawdle
between the breadth of the wood
and the microfiche pane.
The top of the beak, a fork:
akin to those we set sail at the dinner table –
(feet to the floor)
the bottom, a mother in the dark
with a spoon for deep feeding,
caters her loves in pinches soft as
As adroit and grandeur as the threading of a needle,
pray, be her child and their child in the warm of next year.
© Eve Redwater 2012
[Inspired by some tiny, hopping, adorable visitors I had on my windowsill this morning. I’ve put out more bread, so let’s hope they come back! (I’d like some pictures!)]
Posted for DVersepoets – get involved everyone!