The bird watcher

My grandfather knew a love of birds

For tiny beating wings

For miniature thumping hearts

For pulsing stem and pecking beak

And sunflower shells beneath small trees

He'd hum with humming birds alive

And rest with hooting owls at night

He'd turn the pages crisp and sharp

To remind of the chucker and the lark

He had no wings to fly as they

Or great puffs of plumage

Embossed and bold

He had no such physical sway

But my grandfather had

A humming lightness of heart

And a birds eye for things

From lifes first chirping start

His voice still hums with me today