Working at my home office today while convalescing after foot surgery, a little flock of finches and sparrows landed in the crabapple tree outside my window and began to eat the tiny pea-sized fruits. A living poem, I thought. Having promised myself never to deny, or even to delay, inspiration, I wrote the poem that came: Through Winter’s Window. I hope you find it a spot of warmth on this freezing Winter day.
THROUGH WINTER’S WINDOW
fidgety finches, purple bibbed,
nibble nervously on
purple crabapple fruits,
not whole berries,
but tiny snatches and pecks,
wiping beaks on branches
when the sticky pulp sticks
watching from within walls, me,
through gridded, two-paned glass,
through slanted shutters
and dark nylon micro screen;
still I see the fidgety finches,
joined, now, by sparrows
brown on brown
round, scarlet leaves of fall
have fallen; only the marble
fruits hang on
though winds gust, throwing snow,
and winter sun appears
a weak old bulb
on the world’s periphery
but the red-throated finches
and striped sparrows land in
a happy-dozen flock to nibble and talk,
to swipe and nibble and talk,
seeing not nor caring
that I watch
unhearing from inside
Rabbit Lane 
Beautiful, Roger! Merry Christmas!
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Thank you Patsy! Happy holidays to you!
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A lovely poem! ❤️
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Thank you Dr. Phoebe!
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I love your poem – and I love finches and sparrows! They always bring a smile to my face when I see them jumping around 🙂 Happy holidays!
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Little birds, whether drab or exotic, have a way of capturing the gentler part of our hearts and imaginations! Thanks!
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A lovely scene and a lovely rhythm to this poem. I especially like the image of the winter sun as a ‘weak old bulb’.
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