Unlike the long tailed tits that happily bob along
or the blackbird that bursts into virtuosic song,
the jay rasps raw loathing, as if my very existence is wrong,
whenever I enter the holly wood.
I don’t know if it’s defending its last stash of berries
or if it just views all walkers as confirmed adversaries,
but certainly its greeting is the opposite of merry,
whenever I enter the holly wood.
But I won’t let the jay’s jaded squawks drive me off
as it blusters and blithers and loudly mocks.
Instead, I’ll remember it won’t leave the tree tops,
whenever I enter the holly wood.
