Birds Of America Poem by Sonny Rainshine

So much has been said
about the lark, about the thrilling
trilling of the nightingale,
about wrens,
sparrows.

But I wouldn’t know one
if I saw one. Every day
little brown and gray birds
hold congress in my backyard,
then scatter like October leaves
with no warning, all in perfect unison,
like precision dancers.

Someday, I say to myself,
(careful that no-one else hears)
I’ll buy an Audubon Birds of America
or a National Geographic Guide
to Northamerican Birds.
Yet, something tells me
I may never.

Still, I know
that those plumed creatures
foraging through last summer’s
marigold heads,
don’t know my name either,
and will never buy
Audubon’s Guide to Humans
of Northamerica,
but they’ll nod to me
when I leave them
a scoop of sunflower seeds
mixed with a handful of good intentions
to get us all through the winter.