Today is not
Officially
The start of spring.
But that sleek blackbird
Has obviously some inkling
He should be seeking
His brown mate.
A thrush, over and over
Early and late
Repeats his slogan,
That, sure as feather
Belongs to wing
And fur to vixen,
This is the weather
The day and the season
For love.
© The Estate of Dorothy Cowlin 2009–2021. All rights reserved.