Evidence that Fran may have learned to identify a sparrow at last

Here's a poem about nature that I wrote this morning although my observations were made from the warmth and safety of the indoors as regular followers will not be surprised to hear. 

A morning in March


The neighbour has frisbeed stale slices

of bread across his scraggy lawn

beneath the apple tree, its branches winter-bare

save forgotten Christmas lights.

But the birds can take incongruity

with more grace than I do.


First come the pigeons, plunging in like gossips

to a whispered conversation.

One triumphs away a whole slice

which hangs uncertain from its beak,

wondering if it will survive the journey.


The sparrows arrive next, flitting up down up down

as though on the end of a conductor’s baton.

They peck-kiss at the slices,

checking left and right for rivals,

then dart upwards as though caught thieving.


Last, a robin, a lone actor.

It observes from a branch

until the sparrows have flecked away,

then hops to the middle of a slice,

its cheeky breast applauding

against the white of its stage.

'You mean, she actually recognised us?'




  1. You have very fluffy little sparrows, ours are trimmer, leaner. Perhaps yours are babies still, or carrying winter coats.

    1. Perhaps your sparrows do more workouts. The ones round here just gorge on bread and seeds all day.

  2. Oh this is lovely! You describe the birds so well 😍 My favourite part is the line about the sparrows flitting up and down as though on a conductor's baton. I can just see it!

    1. Thanks, Deborah! That's my favourite image in it too.

  3. What a fab blog! I know sparrows, chaffinches, pheasants and woodpeckers. Oh and robins. That's about it.

    1. You're doing better than I am! But neither of us will be asked to head up the RSPB ;)

  4. That is a jolly good poem. Well done.

  5. I do enjoy watching the birds from our window, they really do have their own style and Im sure conversation with nature - Ha.
    My blog here


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