Blue Tits – Spring is Sprung.
Come the parents, hurrying
Back and forth a’scurrying,
Constantly a’worrying,
For their brood.
Eight nestlings there, awaiting;
Their hunger not abating,
All little beaks agaping.
Food – food – food.
Fly hundreds of trips a day;
Avoid raptors and the Jay,
Who will try to steal away
And nests intrude.
Lots of pollen, nectar, sap.
Insects, spiders, all on tap.
Many seeds to fill the gap;
Efforts renewed.
Takes two or three weeks to fledge.
Weasels, squirrels, on the ledge.
Parents watchful, all on edge.
No interlude.
Upside down, on twigs they’ll cling,
Join flashing flocks, on the wing
And through the year, call and sing.
Cheeky brood.
Don Filliston.