Crimson Puff

There you sat upon my fence, eyeing me with your beady contemplation,

stout and round, your feathers created a fluffy ball of exotic insulation –

A coat of Scarlet breast, dyed with blood from the last rose of summer;

to bring a striking flash of colour to an almost colourless, cold, grey day.   

In my joyless and flowerless garden you brought your fiery show,

to halt the first frosts of wearisome winter, dead in their frozen tracks -  

From your tiny beak, your heartfelt song trills a pretty verse;

to cheer the sobbing leaves of golden brown and pumpkin orange.

Your song so sweet, full of charm, comes from deep within your soul-

A gift of voice, that when you sing, even the birds stop to listen-

And when the winds of change bring snow, you’ll be my cheeky clown;

to bring a smile to melt the icicles hanging as daggers from the roof.

In the spring, I know you’ll go to other climes, to perform your dazzling pomp-

How I’ll miss your aria, your puff of Crimson, your chirpy chappy bop –

I will curl on the sofa bathing in the morning sun to dream of you, and the day;

long into the autumn, when you venture back to my drab ashen skies again.