Nature Poem (a slim verse)
you call your
self a tree
my bank has
more branches.
plus a bonus poem in which Slim escapes the 3 syllable shackles of slimverse and displays an uncharacteristic lightness of being.
The Low November Sun
The low November sun
hits the silver birches
and the cherry tree
sending the bush tits
and the black-capped
chickadees
into a flitting frenzy
Who pulled the alarm?
Which one is my nest?
Where did I leave that worm?
Both poems have appeared in other posts, this combination was prompted by the Daily Prompt – ‘branch’.
Stopdraggingthepanda 
Love the photography and the thoughts, hope those trees are embarrassed, and that birds don’t really have nest uncertainty. It’s not like they’re cars in a carpark. 😄
LikeLike
Thanks, Steve, the one good thing about nature poetry is that it forces you to learn the names of things…now I bore everyone by saying :”look there’s a black-capped chickadee!”
LikeLike
My pleasure. Bird names are so important, especially for twitchers like me, who drink too much coffee. 🐒
LikeLike