Monday, 9 March 2015


There were hardly any berries on the Mountain Ash last year
None that I can see
And maybe that's just how it is
Some years a bumper crop
Some years a bummer crop
And I wouldn't spend time thinking too much about it
But I wonder what the waxwings will feast on when they fly this way
The Cedars and Bohemians
What they will pass to one another
Beak to beak
When they descend
An earful
A museum of waxwings
That always lift my spirits
What will I have for them?

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