The Flock of Blackbirds
They were not uniform, these loud birds of the
afternoon.
There were red-wings mixed in with the all
black, and
Their chatter, their crying out filled the
afternoon
As the flock swayed uneasily in the leafless
trees.
Tossed by wind, excited by their mutual noise,
They went from trees to brown ground, and
Then back to the swaying leafless trees.
Trees and birds swaying in the winter wind,
In the March sunshine--
A blessing us all.
This was a good scene and moment to treasure,
To savor, to keep--
A source of warmth for the coming night
Of bitter cold.
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