Mama cardinal is looking sleek again,
her olive-green feathers tinged
with cream and persimmon hues.
No more, the dull draggled look
of nesting season.
No more, the constant gaping importunity
of cheeping beaks.
Nothing to hold her to the nest
now that it’s empty.
Not so much as a flash of red
or a note of song
from Papa cardinal
to entice her to do it all over again.
She will do it all over again,
This morning, her only plan
is to fill her own belly
after a few more moments
on this quiet twig.
Written by: Margaret Fisher Squires