Two Cardinals on a Snowy Branch II
by Michael Escoubas

The tranquility of the snowy branch
is but half the story–
the other half involves the twigs
she chose to form the nest,
each one smooth and supple.
She made the nest round and deep.
Then came the clutch of three eggs,
ivory with brown freckles.

I helped along the way, as I recall,
but make no mistake, it was she,
the care she offered each potential chirp.
The nudging of her beak broke their shells.
Her love, the same for one as for the other.

Such memories, became a symphony,
a memoir of love songs without music
after fifty-five years, our eyes see no other.
And people wonder why we red birds
sing so sweetly atop the pine.



 


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