A charming charm of lemon and black
gold finches socialize every summer
in my yard. They fly like roller coasters
and glide over ethereal hills and valleys.
I sit still as a statue on my deck watching
them gather three feet away at the feeder.
Occasionally, I'll play the piano for them.
When they perch in the trees, I attend
a symphony of talented gold finches.
Could their music be partly for me?

And four lines from Emily Dickinson
A Bird, came down the Walk —
He did not know I saw —
He bit an Angle Worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,