I wait and watch from my hideaway under the evergreen tree.
My fur damp with February,
My eyes never leaving the bird house.
They are unaware of my presence as they peck and chatter,
Their heads bobbing ridiculously.
I become a coiled spring;
Then I’m whistling through the cold air.
The happy chatter turns to warning squawks as my breakfast takes flight.
I crash to earth, nothing in my mouth or paws,
My face slides through the wet dead leaves.
My paws become hot with friction as I slide to a halt.
High above on a leafless tree my breakfast perches laughing and mocking me.
A place for poems and odes - let your creative juices flow....
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