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Nuthatch

a-bird-in-the-hand-1-of-1

In this poem, David Wagoner sums up pretty well what it must be like to be a nuthatch.

Nuthatch

Quick, at the feeder, pausing
Upside down, in its beak
A sunflower seed held tight
To glance by chestnut, dust-blue,
White, an eye-streak
Gone in a blurred ripple
Straight to the cedar branch
To the trunk to a crevice
In bark and putting it
In there, quick, with the others,
Then arrowing straight back
For just one more all morning.

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This entry was posted on March 12, 2009 at 12:30 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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