A raspberry bush
Outside my back door,
Putting forth juicy berries;
There were happy birds.

One early morning
I picked a small batch,
But made sure I left plenty;
Ripe, not hard to reach.

I tried not to pick
Too many berries;
Sharing is one thing, but it's
Life or death out here.

A nest was there, for
Mockingbird children.
One survived; the other one
I buried nearby.

Little house finches
Built themselves two nests;
The wind blew both of them down,
But I replaced them.

I told the finches,
"Choose the one you like."
They picked the one I wanted
And hatched two fledglings.

Too soon the young ones
Left the nest, or died;
I cannot find the courage
To look and see which.

The fruit is all gone,
Eaten by robins
And mockingbirds, and others;
That's why I left it.

Now the mockingbird
Comes to beg for scraps;
Cat food is fine. She opens
Her wings to give thanks.

It's almost Morse code,
The way she moves them;
Bent out, extended, then down,
One flight feather gone.

Then she flies away,
Childless, partnerless.
But I can still hear her song,
Remember her dance.

They say it's a sin
(If such things exist)
To go kill a mockingbird;
I say: Don't tempt fate.