White-winged Crossbill

listening to his tribe chatter

about who is far
who is near
sounds like music to my ear
they flit and fly
low and high
in sync
with one another
immersed in
eating seeds from cones
I slide up close
to be
a spy for you and me
and steal a portrait
of another
White-winged Crossbill
chatter
chatter
chatter


Go to One Single Impression for more poets honoring the prompt: Listening