ornithology
In our first summer
I started feeding birds –
you'll have to feed
all year round,
our neighbor said,
or they’ll die in winter
I thought
I was doing them
a favor.
Now they congregate
in the crisp autumn air
and wait like worshippers
for me to fill the feeder
while the wild geese
fly overhead
I wonder
if both instincts
are true.
Peace,
Milton
P. S. -- You can check out other poems at Writer's Island.