How often is a Bird?

How often is a bird?
How sad must be the tree?
To wallow in the autumn months
and whimper as it bleeds
its fallen blood leaves
upon the valley floor
and stare about in wonder
how spring could be no more
How barren are her days now
made bare of all her fronds
the chill winds blowing through her
as she shivers in her bonds

How often is a bird?
within that winter freeze,
not a single flap of wings
to grace that iceborn breeze
She stands there naked for them
and ogled by their eyes
as whispery winds fly round her,
caressing at her thighs
Sap tears roll her ridges
over the moss retaining green
like gaudy little badges
the only verdant to be seen

How often is a bird?
amidst that snowy glow
as white covers the grass
of once swaying meadow
She looks upon its blankness
where very few still roam
save tiny little robin
who ever calls her home
The two silent companions
bereft in the expanse
of morning evening chorus
like the air is held in trance

How often is a bird?
as they fly back in from far
arrows pointed t’wards her
like the mark on their radar
Their squawking and their tweeting
no sweeter sound was heard
as she wills her plumage faster
so their comfort is assured
She wants to hold them closer
nestle them in leaves
set sticky with her sap of tears
wrought with each winter’s grief

How often is a bird?
in spring they spring from love
and chatter in the branches
all finch and crow and dove
A plethora of feathers
in shades of tawny hues,
attending morning chorus
upon her leafy pews
The breeze creeps out around her,
in shame of its cold taunts,
whilst she stands there in splendour
eaves full of those she flaunts

How often is a bird?
Amongst months vibrant green,
chasing would-be lovers
like a king wooing a queen
and soon they pull her hairs out
to line their fluffy beds,
where mothers lay their little ones
and sit upon their heads
Until their shells crack open
and tiny beaks poke out;
new voices for the chorus
but they will have to shout

How often is a bird?
when tiny ones do fly,
balanced on her precipice
and scared to give a try
She watches them take wing
and flap about her hands,
her heart upon her leaves,
until the babies land
She watches them grow strong
enough to fly away
and once again when winter comes
she must send them on their way

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