The Mulberry Tree

I watched each leaf unfurl in springtime
and then each blossom with bees nuzzling into
each delicious throat,
and as the berries ripened to red,
and then deep purple,
the catbirds came,
dressed all in gray,
with fine dark berets,
and cinnamon breaches,
they feasted and fed,
filling their beaks and bellies
with the ripening fruit.

But the fruit has gone by
and there are no birds in the Mulberry Tree;
only the groundhogs that have grown fat in its shade
waddle around beneath the tree as it leans out over the yard
reaching for the sun.

And while cicadas whine in the woodland,
the fledgling blue jays flutter and fret,
begging the adults to still feed them.
there are no catbirds in the Mulberry Tree
because summer is half gone
now.

~Kathie Adams Brown (July 17, 2012)