The Birdwatcher

“Hush” she whispers, tiny fingers to her lips,
“Come Mummy; bird!” her eyes sparkle to meet mine.
So down we huddle, noses to the glass,
Her small person held in my lap.

How still she can sit, when wonder enthralled.
How fascinated by a young, scruffy blackbird,
As it hops, cocks and pulls worms,
Oblivious to the snoozing cat at the back of her play den.

Together, two hearts, at the window tuned to a third,
As the blackbird finds a hazel branch, to rest and observe.
“What’s it doing, Mummy?” she tries to understand,
“It’s seen us, and it’s watching, my love, keep still.”
And she does.