The Birdhouse

There's a birdhouse in the pine,

you made it for me.

We put it there last summer,

it was late.

We watched from our chairs on the porch

as the birds checked it out,

and we said to each other that fall,

Well, next year,

maybe a pair of Sparrows,

or Chickadees, or Finch

Will think that it is suitable,

for a home.

We can watch as they bring twigs

bits of grass, cast off feathers

darting in and out, calling busily

as they build their nest.

We'll sit in those old rocking chairs,

waiting for the day

the eggs will hatch.

Listen to the babies,

crying endlessly

bring us food.

Maybe we will be there,( if we're lucky),

and we will get to see them

learn to fly.

One by one they'll take to new wings,

Wave good-bye...

 

Patricia A Boudreau

Done