Summer at last as flowers bloom, and trees turn envious green.
Birds, fallen from cramping nests, call parents hardly seen.
In morning dew, our ruffled guests stand, waiting by the door.
A breakfast call, with hungry birds already asking us for more.
Under the bushing rose, a baby blackbird pipes an urgent trill,
mother blackbird opens her full beak, so he can have his fill.
Sparrows fight, too many for the table, causing seed to fall;
Fat pigeons, waiting just below, make sure they catch it all.
Martins wheeling down the street, back to raise their young,
swoop in under our eaves, where all the old nests hung.
This annual performance tells us, we are one with them;
natures’s calls are ours, as from necessity they stem.
We are dependent on each other, despite competing claims,
to feed our families, create a future, our perennial aims.
As evening comes, and welcome rest, a serenade begins;
a solo rooftop thrush, sings the fading sun his hymns.
June 2021