I spied a pair of red birds in my dead peach tree,
A woodpecker happened by, a wren, and a chickadee.
As if blown in on the cold wind from the north,
They stopped in my back yard, for what it's worth.
Babies raised, they're on the move.
Ever southward in that ancient groove.
Stopping for the moment, in my tree.
For food or rest, whatever it may be.
To remind me of autumns lost,
When I flew the winter too,
And landed upon this spot,
And planted a peach tree for fruit and view.
Copyright 1998 © Ronald W. Hull