TREE IN WINTER

The winter tree is full of birds,
Each snootily ignoring the others.
Concentrating on disappearing
Into small bundles of feathers.
Fierce little eyes threatening
Anything that attempts to shift them
From their bit of branch,
From their tiny hiding place
In amongst the twiggy darkness.

At least until the seagulls come
With strong bodies and hungry winter eyes.
Always on the look-out for a sustaining snack.

Then they’ll have to think again,
Have to hutch up until they entirely vanish
Into crooked black lines bleak drawn on the sky.

For they all know it’s only
When those hard beaks have moved on,
That the seagulls will go hungry.

                                       ©2024 Gwen Grant.