One Word

One Word

One word to the finches

Who perch on my towering sunflowers,

Who fling golden petals, 

Who drop a thousand husks

On the garden below.

Who dive at my coneflowers, talons out

And then peck and pull and shred

Those spiny, spiraled heads.

It is September now, but I know

That you and others of your kind

Will be back again, and again

Perching in the branches

All fall, and all winter too.

And you will continue to feast

On the dry seeds that remain.

What was a colorful garden is becoming

Your harvest meal, your stores for winter,

And you don't care how much I worked

To make this garden grow.

The earth I turned, the soil I amended,

The compost churned, the toil.

The seeds I raised inside while you sat

On brown stems, looking in my windows.

The seedlings planted, and watered,

And watched until they grew.

I have just one word for you:

Welcome.

When you leave today I'll gather 

A few of those seeds myself

And I'll set them aside to dry

So that next spring you, and I

Can begin to grow again.

—-

David L. O'Hara

19 September 2020