The gloom of winter is momentarily lightened
When a flock of these fellows descends,
Sportily attired in gray, white, and beige,
Debonair black masks strategically placed,
Wingtips dipped in red, topknots freshly moussed.
Plump and jovial, they noisily gossip together
While devouring the crimson berries on my crabapple tree
Like a convention of salesmen
Plucking maraschino cherries
From the bottoms of their Manhattan glasses.
If karma dictates my reincarnation as a bird
I hope that I can join their club.
—J. Kemper Campbell
Image Credit: Cedar waxwing. (Paul A. Johnsgard)