Poem

All the mornings, I've learned
early on, are good--but it's especially so
when I see the hummingbird
in his blue house, on his leafy
furniture (for, like me,
he favours one chair, and can
usually be found there.)

This day I found him
hung in the air as a single
ornament, then climb up
on the whirr and might
of his wings, to go sit
in an unusual, high cedar.

From further away I saw the red
flashing lure of his breast,
and had a wonderful thought:
that he'd chosen this perch
for its bounty of light,
out of vanity or necessity
(likely a little of both--and also whimsy!)
so as to spark up that ruby fire;

and I wonder where she is,
the little lady
deserving of such a display,
for it certainly cannot be me.