We bought our house from a gun happy Gypsy
Sad fellow who’d overstretched his Romany
But we still bore the scars with holes in the shutters
And not a bird in sight with no songs or flutters.

Oh so silently they began to return
The first was our owl as soft as a fern
We only heard from twilight into the night
Who would disappear again at dawn’s first light.

Then cuckoo in the spring would come each year
Invisibly usurping her cousins without fear!
With lullaby at night of the soft twit-twoo
And early morning wake up of a bright cuckoo!

All of a sudden the window sills were seen
Where many would come, sit in the sun and preen
But the presents of straw, sticks and grass quite fair
Just got too much for us to manage or bear.

When a song is heard don’t specify the singer
Don’t confuse the message with the messenger
Or you may miss the song in its clarity
Or the message in all of its purity.

The nests with feathers and a soft downy bed
Really couldn’t bear them so they went, sadly said.
Now they’re emboldened, hearing their flutter,
They’ll nest under tiles or the edge of a gutter.

Now that they’ve found where they really belong
From dawn early morning they sing us their song
So they know that the sills are now out of bounds
As they soar and they dive they orchestrate sounds.

Homemade Bird House with nesting box inside
Made from old timbers our house did provide
Loved by our flying friends back in England
Now ignored by birds in this foreign land.

But our home has become the house of the birds,
Their movement and colour and songs that are heard
Brings joy to our hearts, happy to reinforce
Our happiness has become a real Tour de Force!
© David Tenneson 2015.


About David

Devonian writer
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6 Responses to HOUSE of BIRDS

  1. Charming. It seems you’re a poet and do know it… (When I saw the first word of the title “House” I thought the next word was going to be “sold”……) L&L, William


    • David says:

      Thanks William, we feel this is our year and you will be one of the first to know we are on the move to our true purpose. Love, David


  2. David your poem weaved its magic as you made your home more welcoming, so too the birds came.. and you provided for them a place of rest now what better a home for them to Sing their joyful Song…
    You are leaving them a place of safety to return to yearly… And I am sure others who are soon to live in your home will welcome their Dawn Chorus, and Nightly tweets…

    Love and Blessings for a peaceful weekend..
    Sue x


  3. eugene1492 says:

    Beautiful story enrobed in even more beautiful poem. Yes, birds had deserted this house before it became the House of Peace. Now they are back and in the number. Strangely enough our dear Cat, called Pushkin, does not frighten them nor is he bothered by them.
    They live in peace in the “House of Peace”, and all very content.

    Surely we have been responsible for the return of our feathered friends for they instinctively knew they had again found a Haven where to spend the seasons of the Year.

    Thank you, David, for writing down feelings which normally are too fleeting to be remembered.

    Much light and love to you and to all who will read your post.



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