For the Birds
Light Verse by Don Tidwell

My Sunset
Spring
Aviantics
Pecking Order
The Rescue
For the Birds
Fallout

		MY SUNSET

	Summer evening in Bountiful.
	Skies to the West
	Reflect every beautiful hue!
	My friend from the North
	Tells me "don't be so smug...
	It's evening in Centerville too!!"






		    SPRING

	The wintry wind has disappeared.
	Spring is on the way.
	The snow is melting rapidly;
	More pleasant clime holds sway.

	Winter souls held captive
	Through duration of her reign,
	Shed their wintry burdens --
	Now feel renewed again.

	The days begin to lengthen
	To accommodate Spring's song;
	Birds which wintered in the South
	Return in feathered throng.

	Early flowers make their bid
	To grasp some golden sun;
	Slumbered bulbs begin ascent
	For Summer's long rerun

	Nature bids her charges dress
	In garments fresh and green;
	Hearts reach out to grasp and hold
	This new, refreshing scene.

	Humanity once more transformed
	By thoughts these changes bring---
	My world a softer brighter place;
	The season now is Spring.






		AVIANTICS

	The Blue Jays in the walnut tree
	Are playing "blue jay tag."
	The "it" bird chases others
	As they dart and squawk and brag.

	Their noise disturbs the sparrows --
	The five of them are LOUD,
	And when the "it" bird makes a tag,
	He flits around real proud.

	A flighty wren surveys the scene,
	Perched on a nearby twig
	And wishes that the greedy jay
	Would not be such a pig.

	A pair of wary crested quail
	With children chicks in tow,
	Patrol beneath that walnut tree
	And feast on overflow.

	What brings this feathered colony
	To grace our walnut tree?
	A FEEDER, full and spilling --
	And it's absolutely free!






		PECKING ORDER

	A Blue Jay and a Chickadee
	exchanged some angry words,
	in ornithol-ic language
	used when birds converse with birds.

	The chickadee accused the jay
	of aviary greed,
	and said he had a prior claim
	upon that sunflower seed.

	The blue jay flat denied the charge
	and boasted of his size,
	saying "this alone should tell you
	that I will not share my prize."

	Take my advice, young chickadee,
	and when you feel the need,
	look elsewhere in this garden,
	but don't touch my sunflower seed!






		THE RESCUE

	One recent Sunday morning
	On returning to our home,
	I found a frantic humming bird
	Entrapped beneath our dome.

	The poor thing was exhausted
	From his efforts to fly free.
	His energy expended,
	Something very plain to see.

	I pondered rescue methods
	Which might save this tiny beauty,
	Fostered by sincere compassion
	Rather than by sense of duty.

	I contrived a novel rescue kit---
	A brown bag on a stick,
	Then I brushed that bird to safety
	With a gentle well placed flick.

	He dipped his wings in thanks
	As he escaped that see-through bubble---
	I grinned a grin inside
	Because I'd helped him out of trouble.






		FOR THE BIRDS

	Each morning before daybreak
	the birds begin their din,
	impressing all who'll listen
	with the lovely voice they're in.

	They chirp and tweet and twitter
	to the fullness of each heart,
	and should one begin to falter,
	four different ones will start.

	Their feathered chorusmaster
	must have trained with Robert Shaw,
	for he won't allow an unused note
	to stick in any craw.

	The robins and the sparrows
	alternate the melody.
	The blue jays sing the tenor parts ...
	the wrens, the harmony.

	They practice for an hour or more
	in the dim before the dawn,
	and the chance for you to stay asleep,
	unless you're deaf, are gone!

	I'm a choral music lover
	and receptive to their call,
	but for these early morning concerts,
	wish they'd hire a different hall.






	         FALLOUT

	Jonathan Livingston Seagull
	performing tricks on high,
	appeared as just a silver speck,
	while soaring in the sky.

	The grace with which he dipped and turned
	bespoke of being free,
	and caring not for worldly woes
	which haunt humanity.

	The images presented
	as he practiced his routine,
	spawned thoughts of peace and quiet
	in this lazy Summer scene.

	His acrobatics finished,
	he descended from that plane,
	and in passing, splashed his autograph
	across my window pane!!

		The Dirty Bird !!

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© Don Tidwell 1953-2003