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.