deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Bird Bath

 Cast in iron and ice the bird bath
shivers in the frost and freezing sun
I see from my bedroom window.
Blue as yesterday the sky is clear,
roofs gossamer white in frost,
no snow. does it wait for Christmas?
I hear the boiler plop its heat,
will wait until the streets are gritted
before I venture out to fill the tank
not going far, but you never know at Christmas.
The bird seed in the feeder, I filled it yesterday,
tells of the birds that call.
Four days to go, phone calls and late cards,
who have I forgotten.....meant no offence;
must boil the kettle, thaw out the ice,
birds calling for a drink
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published
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