Amongst the Figs

There's a bird down there, look! look!
'Oh yes,' I said . . . 'doing what?'
nothing – lying, quietly . . . dying?
'Ah really, perhaps,' I said.
Shall I sing and make it better?
'If you like,' I said.

Moving close, under the tree
with decorations round her head,
she sang softly, beauteous nonsense,
'Sing again, my sweet,' I said.

Amongst the figs I saw the bird
shining bright amid the brown.
a family friend, its fastening broken,
that was why it fluttered down.

Do birds eat figs? Please do they, do they?
'Yes in Mediterranean lands.'
Does this bird need sunshine, does it?
cradling poor bird in her hands.

'Sing again and work the magic,
I'll help bird perch in our tree,
decorations dance at midnight,
when we're sleeping, we don't see.

Light the candle, watch the flame grow,
bring a book, here on my knee.
Broken wings will mend with blessings
underneath our Christmas tree.'