Daily on the windowsill
twittering about the things good great and ill
the barbet puff its yellow coat
draw its tiny lungs to their fill,
do spread both of its checked wings
and of life and its mysteries it sings
in my study's windows
to me it do its daily greeting bring
where it looks somewhat like a little bantam cock
while up and down it does its head and body rock
drawing its bristles up and pecks at the window with its bill
where it sounds as if it does knock
and then for long moments I do look at it,
it does look at me for a bit
with a twisted head as if better to see
where without movement it does sit.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem