They cluster as they always have before,
While hidden in the bramble bush I spy,
Awaiting welcome sign that beckons, sure
I’ll fly to join the flock before they hie.
As sun descends, the evening set is nigh,
While shadows, long, obscure that I am near,
The time grows short to hunt for room, or die,
For feral prowlers hearing, soon appear.
A fleeting lapse, off guard, I’d disappear
without a trace, save feathers’ flailing fall
My finch-like friends still disregard my fear,
A-flurry, busy at the tree-perch, tall.
No room, no vacancy, no niger seed,
No room at backyard feeder, I concede.
Written and posted in response to The Weekly Photo Challenge: “Room”