Sunday, October 4, 2015


                    It isn’t so much birdsong that I hear
                    Out the back door, although it comes from birds,
                    But rather it’s a caucus moved by fear,
                    A tone expressed almost as clear as words.

                   Some renegade (most likely it’s a cat)
                   Is prowling in the yard upsetting them,
                   An agile and a stealthy acrobat
                   Possessed by some malevolent stratagem.

                   But suddenly it’s silent.  Danger’s passed.
                   Then all the ordinary sounds resume
                   With no more malefactors to be sassed

                   And nothing signaling impending doom.

                       The squirrels now caw and chitter as before
                       With nothing any longer to deplore.