Birdy

When you arrive, wearing
that feathery-furry coat,
I'm overjoyed.

A quick peck on the cheek.
'Come in. Come in.'

You bring chocolate, champagne
and no, not flowers,
but a tiny silver box containing rain
-water ('enough to quench the thirsts
of several rooftop sparrows')
which (you say) fell
and was collected by you in the Himalayas.

You're always flying off to exotic places.

I can only guess where you've gone.
There's never any contact until
here you are again,
on my doorstep,
at my door,
ringing my bell.

Ding! Ding!

That coat you always wear,
I'd swear you were born in it;
it must have been tailor-made for you.

I wonder where?
I don't ask.

It's always secrets with you.
You probably never tell me anything
that's true.

So what!
I love to see you but when you're gone you're gone
and I don't miss you.

Do you remember when the rest of us
were getting all women's libby
in the late sixties, early seventies,
and you, unlike us, never objected
to being called a bird?

To you
it was just a word.

It suited you.

Uncaged then,
still free as a bird now,
you come and go.

Birdy, we love you.


SONG: Wings