The Dawn Chorus
Flocks of goldfinches
like sun birds
let loose a riotous song when the sun comes up.
It’s mating season.
The feral cats are haunting my yard.
Suddenly-tall children are walking the streets
at odd hours, two by two.
A bouquet of red roses comes home
in my husband‘s hands.
Sweet and tender
this earliest spring.
Poet note: A poem that came to me for Valentine time, during Brigidtide.
