I saw a cardinal in a bush
on the cliff of my backyard.
His quick-slur whistles alerted me
to his flashy-furtive entrance.
Such a gorgeous color, red-awing,
I exclaimed aloud in pleasured envy.
He disclaimed my admiration,
playing hide-and-seek as I tried
to get a better look. Flirting
with his own princelyness, he
flitted among the shrub’s limbs,
coy, yet, demanding his due worth.
I acknowledged his elegance,
acquiesced with willingness,
eagerly gyrating to view his form,
his life’s passion. Sensually,
he emerged to sing vibrating whistles,
affirming my reverence for earth’s souls.
As if to agree, a sudden cloudburst
swept his crest, and my neck,
with plopping fat claps
of happy, plummeting raindrops.
I laughed, the cardinal smiled
as he flew away, trilling artfully,
knowingly, of accolades and secrets
to be gained, when I learned how to use
my own colored wings.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 2/23/05