A Blackbird's Search
by Annie Jenkin

His orange beak pecks
a small curled scroll
of silver birch,
he tips his head
as if to read,
the warning within;
winter will be harsh.

He skitters,
flitting here and there
turning crispy leaves
urgently searching
for bugs and worms.
Picks up a long grey feather
flies swiftly
skims and dips branches,
reaching his nest
hops along a bough
and tucks deep into a fir tree.

I wait
he soon pops out,
gliding to a birch tree,
to sing so sweetly
as a rainbow fills the sky.



 

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