Morning of the Birds

Morning of the Birds

Refilling the feeder with seed,
the new sun kissed the nakedness
of his uncovered head.

The wrinkled man stopped still,
seed bag in hand,
feeling his age,
feeling no reason to be.

He gave thought to the birds;
to their lives expiring so swiftly
yet their happiness burst from them
in wild song and squabbles.

Withered and frail now,
he had never been as colourful
or as elegant as the birds,
had never sang and danced
for no reason in the sun.

Considering this,
he envied their freedom,
their wild cloak
was one he’d never worn.

Observing and enjoying
the feeding chitterers,
he appreciated their simplicity,
he realised, it was enough
and suddenly,
he found a small, simple reason
to be grateful he was born.

© Catherine Knee 2025. All rights reserved.