THE BIRD WATCHER

 

Upon the wooded hill

The forest sentinel stood

Made from wind falls

Wooden scraps and ullage

Skilfully fashioned

To become, complete with binoculars

The birdwatcher

But all was not as it seemed

For the sentinel

Destined to forever study

What fell before his gaze

Every autumn

Turned his attention upon

His favorite birch tree

Who when the autumn wind blew

Began to shed her leafy canopy

All the year round he studied

In detail her fully covered form

But in the autumn, he could

Revel in her nakedness

The sentinel spoke to himself

“Oh, I’m getting a woody”

And with that his sap began to rise

“Oh no too soon, too soon”

Then all too suddenly it was over

So, upon the wooded hill

The frustrated forest sentinel stood

Staring through his binoculars

And telling himself

“There’s always next year”