I watch a sparkling pair of sunbirds build a nest.
It hangs, unaffected, from our frangipani tree.
They flit past my eyes in a blur of restless yellow,
dedicated to their task, oblivious of me.
I watch, in silent fascination, the snatch, the weave, the tie
as they build their intricate little home and wonder,
the simple perfect shape, filled with complex design.
There it hangs, courageously, from its slender thread,
defying feral plunder.
Inwardly, I smile, at their bold antics.
I think I could use them as clever analogies
To conjure up some past joy or fear,
creating, from them, some clever, bittersweet similes.
Instead, unhurried, I study, the sunbirds, captivated
by their dedicated toil, to discover,
I’d rather enjoy this moment, restful and contented,
Contemplating, two small birds, instinct blind.
The Sunbirds are back
The sunbirds are back.
One just glinted past the corner of my eye.
It blurred past with sparkling fever.
Then, vanished, into the frangipani tree.
With it came the admonition
I have not added to my slim collection.
I know ……
I have not written for some time.
They have always been there,
Glistening, perfect gems,
Hovering for an instance
Always one beat beyond my reach.
Each compels me to stretch and capture
Only to see it dart and tremor
and vanish……
As small, imperial, voices disconnect me.
“Mummy”, “I want”. “I NEED”.
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