Beverly Burch

A halo of feathers and chorusing. Such a twitter, such love songs.

Wings beating wildly, devotion trembles in the air.

Stupid warblers, a little red sprig is my heart. Angel-squawkers.

Fledgling disciples. They brush my cheek, tender as flies.

Try to nest in my hair. Hooded and orange-crowned. White

throated butter butts scramble up my leg, bay-breasted, black

capped, even an old gray comes with praise. Bird brains,

dumb clucks. Groom me with song. Maybe the green will grow.

Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come. — Chinese proverb