Outside my kitchen entry

in a bush of evergreen,

nuzzled safely in a bed

made of twigs and bits of string;

three light blue speckled eggs

await the moment of their birth,

while a beautiful gray cardinal

anticipates with mirth.

She flutters as the door opens

waiting in a nearby tree,

until I’ve left the entry way

as far as she can see.

Her mate, a male of vibrant red

has not been seen for days,

not since the day he built her nest

in such artistic ways.

I have seen the nests of robins,

of starlings, wrens and all,

but I don’t believe I’ve seen a nest

that I think to be so small.

Made with a piece of packing tape

And bits of string and twig

no larger than the palm of my hand --

maybe not even that big.

Such a watchful mother

dressed in gray with hues of red,

with a melon colored beak

to grace her lovely head.

Her eye so bright and watchful;

almost as if she begs

that I don’t come any closer

as she hovers o’er her eggs.

Soon several days will pass

and she will have done her best

to teach them one by one to fly

out of the little nest.

They’ll leave my kitchen entry

and the bush of evergreen

and one by one will learn to make

their own nest of twigs and string.