The sparrow houses young
in crevices come spring-
the constant chatter is
how he sparkles, and to
the feeder he swarms –
no fault of his own
this internment
on American shores.
The bane of farmer
and woodpecker
the starling has from Europe
brought a foreign sound
to every native thing.
The sweeping murmuration
small consolation
for the havoc he brings.
The silent swan,
sweet bird of Will
defends his property
with wings that rise,
over water he surges,
his beauty comes
along with breadth
first fall his color done.
Oh Mr. Rock you’re the
pigeon of my eye,
the white that flashes
when you flitter
can make the spirit weep,
whether you sun on
turret or wire, you are
prodigious in your breadth.
Phragmites to the left of him
phragmites to the right,
what’s a rail to do
when his home rings untrue?
Whether acclimatization
or carelessness,
the essence of the world
is altered evermore.
3/2018
Anne's mediocre poetry 