There is a lovers’ interlude,
that takes place this time of year.
Openly in the brilliant sun,
when the lovers have no fear.
They came by way of back fence,
these gypsies of the field.
Arriving unaware of my hidden,
voyeuristic window shield.
They sat close, side-by-side,
close, but not to touch.
Their familiarity was obvious.
They knew each other much.
A constant chatter insued,
I could not understand.
For lovers have a way to,
disguise their amorous hand.
She was dressed in neutral browns,
to blend in with the grass.
He was not so subtlety colored,
in black, white, gray, and brash.
He, in bold display, flew up,
feathers extended, chest outthrust.
She, in demure, subdued excitement,
sat quietly, admiring his lust.
Once, twice, thrice he flew up,
his love for her displayed.
His colors thus transformed,
and magnificently arrayed.
He touched her as in a kiss.
His mate for life now made.
Together, they flitted from my fence,
and left me in a dreamy glade.
Men go to the ends of Earth,
To see the bowerbird’s love dance.
While I have stolen the amazing,
unseen interlude of two sparrows on my fence.