Feeding the birds
by cricketjeff on January 8, 2010. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
Asleep under inches of snow,
The gardens have vanished their trees are all brown,
Their flowers are hidden below.
We’re feeding the birds there are breadcrumbs and nuts
And fat-balls and seeds for the small greedy guts.
The pavements are icy, it’s tricky to walk,
The cars are slip sliding along.
We turn on the TV, hear weathermen talk,
For once they have not got it wrong.
The robin’s protesting he wants some more bread
Or all of his fellows will wake up stone dead.
It’s dark in the morning, the bed’s snug and warm,
The office is miles away.
I’d much rather stay here than have to perform;
I’ll work hard on some other day.
But out in the garden the sparrows will fuss
“It’s alright for you but you don’t think of us”.
I’ll try to look cheerful and rush for the train,
I’ll put on a strange woolly hat;
Commuters all cursing, the train’s late again,
The birds are avoiding a cat.
They eat what we give them, then perch with a friend,
I’m sure that the cold, and this poem will end.