Waxwings

This February morning
a troop of pirates
from where the North wind blows
raided my garden
for its berries.

Like Vikings they work
by democratic rule,
equal, unanimous, going
orderly, in threes and fours
from look–out tree to berry bush:
but unlike Vikings
travel with their women:
costumes unisex — rose–grey bodice,
coat–tails frogged and tipped with yellow,
berry–coloured buttons at the waist,
cockatoo–crest lifted.

Tomorrow — to fresh plunder:
finally, well–fed, well–charted,
home, maybe to Finland,
there to rear next season's
brood of buccaneer.