Hanging out with our Feathered Friends

On a branch robin perches,
I can tell he's on guard duty,
a warning signal he will give,
if anything sinister should appear,
for this his territory he will protect,
that other robins should 'keep out',

blackbird has his own approach,
chirping wildly...quickly fleeing,
others follow...wings spread wide,
my footsteps forbidding to our
feathered ones...nothing like the
confidence of the townie birds,
which stumble round my feet,

I wish they knew that I'm their friend,
feeding them Spring – Summer – Autumn
and Winter...come rain – shine or snow.

Speaking to robin sitting upon my spade,
I tell him of the crops I'll grow, and how I
wish he would stay...as I dig the earth away,
Winter's frost breaks soil down...next Spring
my seeds I'll sow, then ask robin please don't go,

I wonder what he thinks of me...this strange
language that I speak, if anyone could see me
now...they'd probably think I was right cuckoo,
can't help it when I get so much satisfaction,
hanging out with our feather friends the birds.