In Which I Watch A Strange Convention From The Sidelines (And No, It Is Not Bacon-Con)

I really just don't understand the birds!

Cheyenne's entire population of

American Tree sparrows, or two-thirds

Of it at least, are, for all love,

Now congregated tight in my backyard.

What's drawn them here to me? I cannot guess.

I simply watch them hopping, jostling hard

Against each other in the grass -- unless

The brand-new chilliness has caused

A mass die-off of insects? Winter's change

Makes these birds switch from bugs to seeds. I've paused

Now in this writing because something strange

Just happened: they've all flown up to my fence,

Then flown back to my lawn again. What sense?

In Which I Enjoy My Easily Amused Birdie Brain

American Tree Sparrows like to hang

Around the cheap tube feeder just outside

My window, and they, too, like to harangue

Me when the feeder's empty, though they hide

When I come out to fill it. Once a day

At least, I find they've eaten all, or spilled

The seed I've  poured inside it. I obey

Their shrill demands, because I'm really thrilled

To watch them so cavort where I can see

Them at their birdie doings all day long.

I know the show they put on's not for me

Expressly, but I ask you, what is wrong

With staring out my window, oh, for hours?

When spring comes then I'll also watch the flow'rs.