The Blue Tit

The Blue Tit sits on the orchard bough
her avian mind consults the now;
        sun and flowers and crows and bugs
she perches she poses she sniffs the breeze
    she shrugs and sings, “I’m quite at ease
        with sun and flowers
            attending the hours
    as if things were planned to do as i please”
“That’s what i think,” the Blue Tit sings
    on the orchard bough
        blithely folding her wings.

mmiii