The Bird Watcher

     Day Six and poem number two . This poem is called The Bird Watcher

Picking through the thicket

he stops at the sight of

beating wings

close-packed at the feeders.

Chaffinches;

Great Tits;

Yellowhammers.

A birdwatchers delight,

artfully perched for a moment,

seed snatched

then gone.

Back and forth,

back and forth.

Two yellow discs

in a mass of black fluff

grow wider

as they watch

the exhibition

in anticipation.

An hour ago he lay gentle

in your lap

warm and tender.

Claws

opened and closed,

opened and closed

to the rhythm of a soft purr.

Now he stands in wait,

ready to wreak havoc.

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