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Cedar Waxwings

By John I. Blair

A drunken, rowdy bunch,
Bellies full of berries,
They roister through the hollies,
Piping high, swooping low,
Lightening my gray day.

Each year I yearn to see
That waxwings are here,
A breath of northern air
Spilled south to freshen up
This stagnant Texas town;

And when they do arrive,
All gold and green and gay,
They help restore my hope
That yet another wintertime
Can be survived.

©2002 John I. Blair

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Reader Comments

Name: Barbara Knight Katz Email: barbcat7@aol.com
Comment: January 9, 2004, Alexandria, Virginia I have just looked out my window at a frosting of snow on trees and bushes. Watching closely, I see fluttering and flitting, noisy, back and forth among the bright holly berries. A look through my binoculars confirms it -- the cedar waxwings are here. The blaze of yellow tail stripe always startles me. I typed into Mary Oliver+cedar waxwings to find a poem she has written, and I find yours. Wonderful. You get it! Blessings, Barbara

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