When we left I was asked to leave behind
My home made oak bird table and nesting box.
Our buyer was confined to a wheelchair
Not like our free friends soaring in the sky.

It was a pleasure to bring pleasure to another
Confined, but returning to the land of her birth
And as I left, a tear brought remembrance
And a lump as I looked toward the sky.

This, our second home there, gave ample chance
To see and hear the many who graced our garden
A whistle that could have been a man, but no
It was majesty on the wing, specs in the sky.

Such royal register, a calling to each other
Wheeling and diving, soaring and coming close
A pair of golden eagles gave such a display
Proving they truly are monarchs of the sky.

Being so fond of sky-born friends no doubt
We were in the right place, but if wondering …
My name in English carved on the garden giant
A poplar in our Spanish garden, close to the sky.

We were on top a hill overlooking the village,
High enough to give safe refuge to roost
For so many who came to share our Zen space,
To serenade us as we watched the sky.

Practice to paint under wings in bright colours
The fanciers made their charges even fancier
And as they flew home to their pigeon lofts
They brought colour to the modestly blue sky.

Finally a parade of fancy pigeons flew overhead,
Waving goodbye they flapped to gain height
And clapped their appreciation of our offerings,
Flying away for the last time into the dying sky.
© David Tenneson – 2017


About David

Devonian writer
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