Birds

flibbertigibbets

on pulpits,

lucid with bliss,

 

gold, crimson and chartreuse,

a tricky weave

in thatched looms,

 

chirps tuned

to dulcet grace,

coy as they syncopate,

 

fragile as a drizzle

of satyrids,

murmur of aria, whirl

 

and frond.

 

fantasia of mince,

lilt-borne chimes,

troupe

 

of felicity,

 

young as breeze,

buoyant with glee,

irresistible

aerial

delectable

playful

 

flight.

 

by Chris Crittenden

Chris Crittenden writes from a struggling fishing village, fifty miles from the nearest traffic light. He is pretty well published.