Little Birds
A merry drift of vagabonds
scratch in the melting snow,
assured they’ll find enough to eat
before the south winds blow.
No one shelters them at night,
save for the holly tree.
No one warms them but the sun,
or offers them some tea.
Its insubstantial body seems
so small and underfed,
with tiny feathers for a coat
and no hat for its head.
Yet they persist in weather fowl,
in thunder, hail, and rain.
Spring and summer fly right by,
then winter comes again.
scratch in the melting snow,
assured they’ll find enough to eat
before the south winds blow.
No one shelters them at night,
save for the holly tree.
No one warms them but the sun,
or offers them some tea.
Its insubstantial body seems
so small and underfed,
with tiny feathers for a coat
and no hat for its head.
Yet they persist in weather fowl,
in thunder, hail, and rain.
Spring and summer fly right by,
then winter comes again.
This poem is copyright (©) Dayle Olson 2024
About the Writer
Dayle Olson
Dayle’s poems are inspired by watching birds and animals near the river town of Cathlamet, Washington. She recently was invited to read one of her poems at a Poetry Competition in Felixstowe, England. She likes to wear old-fashioned hats and have friends over for tea and biscuits. When she’s not being bossed around by two cats, Kitty and Town Crier, she enjoys drawing pictures with her grandchildren.
