FREE AS A BIRD

flicker-in-sandys-yard
Photo by Sandy Cook

Birds.

They’re everywhere.

It’s almost Spring.

They fly.

They flock.

They chirp and sing.

They eat insects and worms.

And make nests of things.

Hair.

Twigs.

String.

Even pieces of plastic.

And dog fur.

Birds flit through our lives.

Through our literature.

And entertainment.

Tweetie Bird.

The Roadrunner (and Coyote).

Hitchock’s The Birds.

The Sandpiper.

The Albatross.

The Raven.

Nevermore.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night.

Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.

He’s got bird legs.

She eats like a bird.

Birds of a feather.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

He flipped him the bird.

(A little birdie told me.)

The Bird Man of Alcatraz.

To Kill A Mockingbird.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

The Thorn Birds.

Bird bath.

Bird cage.

Bird seed.

Bird of prey.

Yea, the sparrow hath found a house,

And the swallow a nest for herself (Psalm 84).

Birdshot.

Bird dog.

Birdhouse.

Bird’s eye view.

The Maltese Falcon.

Sweet Bird of Youth.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

Birds do it, bees do it.

Birdland.

Yardbird (aka Charlie Parker).

“You’re a birdbrain.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re for the birds.”

Lovebirds

Songbirds.

Bird is the word.

That’s Mason.

Read more poetry!

Renee Walker is a poet, writer, and real estate broker on the Square with her canine assistant, Buster.  

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