The Birds

Blackbirds gather on the path
Venting on each other wrath.
Catching dew from tall black tulips
As you or I would sip mint juleps.

Robins build a cosy nest,
They make it warm with feathers dressed,
And red geraniums are the blooms
That burn as bright as scarlet plumes.

A goldfinch settles on a branch,
It looks for food, then takes a chance
On slugs and snails then turning up
When diving 'neath a buttercup.

A blue-tit under fountain spray
Spangles in the sunshine ray.
It loves the water of its bath
Which spills out onto speedwell paths.

All the birds that gather here
From over lea and over mere
Are so happy, so full of song
In this garden, they do belong !