That robin on the topmost point
Of the luscious spreading maple,
Stark upright in the June-blue sky
With his warrior’s red-blaze breast,
Lazily mutters a disjointSong having discharged his staple
Task of feeding the shrilled “I, I”
Of his young; stood down, he can rest.
Lower, crazy-active starlingsTug cherries from the cherry tree;
Its serried leaves like drooping tongues
Pant in the swelling morning heat.
Frantically clinging to gnarlingsOf string-thin branches those birds glee
In fruit, hanging like drunks on rungs,
Wings clattering like rain in wheat.
Lower again, chink-voiced tom titsCrowd into fresh forsythia
Like scraps on the wind; voracious
For greenfly they trapeze into
Every angle, living on wits,Heads blue as the banked aubrietia
Below. Abrupt as loquacious
Panhandlers they flee on the hue.
What a chirograph of being:Above, the sparrow hawk seeing,
Below, the dowdy wren fleeing;
All sustained by light agreeing.
===============© June 2014