Today they’re on my old oak tree
a swarm of sparrows suspended
on brittle branches.
Feathers fluffed into round balls
they resemble Christmas baubles,
some stare down at a smorgasbord
of twigs, seeds and grass, while others
scout the crystal blue, where
a priestly trio of white-collar geese
squawk and honk gliding past them
suddenly, Sparrow hawk swoops
and sprays the sparrows like pellets,
parting in a haze of feathers.
Poem by Alice G. Waldert