Catching up on yesterday’s Daily Post prompt: Survival.
Photo ©Mike Pennington
On the swaying aerial,
the goldfinch sings.
Notes fall in silver cords,
wrapped in the wind.
Caught in the air, a melody,
mingled with light spots of rain.
Feather fluttering freedom.
We listen in awe and envy
as notes pour relentless as the rain
onto our misunderstanding.
his sides thin, birdlight,
feathers lacklustre, lice-creeping.
No time to feed,
nestlings take his time, his life,
his head tilts back and forth,
one bright eye on the hawk hovering,
the crow flapping too close to the nest,
and in the shadows of the chimney stacks,
narrow-eyed cats prowl.
his heart and throat pulsing in time,
no thought but for the lengthening shadows.
All he has left, beneath the cloud-hung heavens,
is his song.