This is a sequel to The Feathers which I posted last week. I thought about it and here I am. Do read the first to follow.
For my Sunshine, ‘Bayo.
The tale of we three
continues two seasons after the last.
Good twin farther than I wish
the spitter, a frequent caress on my skin.
We three weaving our nests
with twigs, grass and toast-coloured leaves.
Good twin bearing colourful petals from her northward pilgrim,
the spitter donning hues obtained by blood.
I, searching to the world’s end
strong twigs and some white hibiscuses.
But things, as always, go wrong
maybe for good or better.
Ever so slowly I forge my path, alone.
Picking the maize I do love and storing for the rains
with Sunshine by my side
making my living worth chirping.
Brightening my days,
assuring me of plentiful harvest
where the land will be filled with long ears
and my beak with fat grains.
Both twin and spitter gradually forgotten
their feathers deep in Mother Earth
replaced by the sun’s colorful rays
on my long black wings.
I am still friends with them though. But…. You know how it is.