Birds of the Summer.

Fly so high, little bird.

You land on my porch a second, a third, 

And wait a while.

I acknowledge you for a moment, 

I even call you cute.

But then you're disregarded,

And I move on.

Everyday I walk past that porch.

Everyday you wait for me.

Sometimes singing, sometimes hooting.

You wait for me.

But to me you're just a bird.

Littering the sky with your wings and colours.

Swooping and spiraling,

Tweeting and chirping.

Forever around. Plentiful.

So I brush you off.

There are loads more like you.

Some with brighter feathers.

Some with shinier beaks.

Summer comes, and the birds return.

Crooning loudly at my window.

You blend in with the crowd,

Quickly forgotten.

But when summer ends,

The birds fly away,

And I am left alone.

And you hang around, 

Eager as ever.

Just as before.

But by the time I realise how different you are,

By the time I know that you're the bird I like the most,

Whose dull colours stood out like a rainbow,

Whose musical call was the loudest of all,

By the time I know you're the one I want,

You fly away. 

I call and call, you used to come back.

But the porch is empty, and you are gone.

Winter is here, and there are no birds in sight.

Ice and cold dew stick to the glass,

Hiding the sky from view.

But I hear a whistle, soft and sweet.

Racing out onto the street,

There you are, and you land on my porch.

I'll feed you bird seed every day.

Promise me you'll never fly away.

And you never do.