9 November – Silver-throated dashers

Why doesn’t every poet celebrate the long tailed tit?
I simply cannot understand the reason for it.
Perhaps they haven’t noticed them bobbing in the trees
like little feathered yo-yos flung up at ninety degrees.
Perhaps they haven’t taken in their delicate pink blush
or experienced the joy of the singular rush
that comes from seeing a small flock of them all alight,
brightening baring branches with whimsical delight.
Perhaps they don’t know that these cheerful dancing troupes
include designated helpers alongside their family groups.
Perhaps they’re unaware of this bird’s superior social system,
its constant communal care and corporate foraging wisdom.
It’s time for the long tailed tit to rise to greater fame,
to be drawn and sung and rhymed and sewn into a household name.
Then no more woodland walkers will fail to look up and see
these brilliant little birds that mean so much to me.