There’s a sparrow on the ridge tile,
and a pigeon on the chimney,
both holding conversations
with friends I cannot see.
The sparrow chirps,
the pigeon coos,
and between the two
they spread the news,
that cats are about;
the feeders refilled;
there’s water in the drinks bowl,
tepid, not chilled;
or just twittering ‘cause they’re happy,
and cooing because they will—
now they’ve gone and flown off,
and I am sat here, still.
Graeme Sandford 