Straining necks, peering, tip-toed
Above the crowd
Long-limbed, lanky, awkward,
Tangled gait
Like a gate-legged table
Unfurling
These seed heads –
Dead heads on high boughs –
Left untended, standing tall,
Yet swaying, in time
To an unheard tune;
Rhythmically moving
In invisible breeze.
Now, the tune has gone.
Just yesterday it seems
They were bursting with life;
Yellow-headed, like discs
Of sun; stars upended, sidelined
Frisbees of happiness
Creating laughter
As we bound through the sky.
Today, deep browns, drooping leaves –
Partied out, the hangover
From a summer-long session
Of indulgent photosynthesis.
But from death, life.
Curious goldfinches sort
The wheat from the chaff –
Pushing through the stalks
Like long grass in a summer meadow;
Sidling along the stems
In short hops and bounces;
Sneaking up, to scare the kids,
And dine on a seed feast –
Rich, plump, fairest yarrow
And with it, whistle the siren call
Of tomorrow’s summer.
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