Starling Lady


Starling Lady

I think the birds will miss her most

Singing as she pulled the weeds

Disturbing insects, snails and seeds

A patient robin on a mossy post


The village whispered her name

Teabags used and used again ‘til they were stale

Fag butts smoked to the nail

Bones and feathers the only waste from game


Missing her family, she gave them gifts

Homemade woollens, wine and pie

For occasions . .  or just for dropping by

Her birthday a date they often missed


She passed in her garden on a warm autumn day

The starlings scattered as they carried her away.

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