The poetry of Beto Ochoa, Prose from a spiritual warrior

Aware

The Poetry Of Beto Ochoa~ Prose from a spiritual warrior

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Songbird


I love the re-birth that happens on our hill every year.
The songbirds are starting to come back after two years of decline.

Every spring, our yellow Labrador sheds her beautiful winter coat.
We brush her in the evenings and leave the hair out on the bushes.
The birds then come and take it to build their nests.
You can spot the nests in the green canopy by the yellow fluff.
The joy it gives this dog is amazing, that the bird babies have
a soft bed because of her. She is so gentle natured.

In honor of spring and the songbird’s return, I am reposting this poem.

The Little House That Sways In The Wind

I know you don't know me but I am your friend
I live behind your house,
In the little house that sways in the wind.

I remember the day when you first came to stay
At the house on the corner of fifteenth and main.
I sang you my song and fluffed up my fluff
To show you I’m little but I’m very tough.
I know you don't know me but I am your friend
I live in the little house that sways in the wind.

I watched as you played when the weather was nice
And as the snow covered the ground once or twice.
I laughed as you ran like a cat from the rain
And was sad when you cried from a hurtie in pain.
I know you don't know me but I am your friend
I live in the little house that sways in the wind.

I see you each day that you set off to school
And welcome you back in the mid-afternoon.
I look for you putting the seed out to share
And sing my song clearly so you’ll know I’m there.
I know you don't know me but I am your friend
I live behind your house,
In the little house that sways in the wind.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

The brown hawk came to look me over as I enjoyed Easter morning with the dog. His appearance is never without note as the doves and all others flock away subito before the silence and then emergence of the hawk. When he saw my eyes meet his, he dove away, disappearing from his highest post. Then I brought out some coffee and cooed to coax back the doves. It must have been convincing, as they began to return for the seed. Then, as I sounded just right, sweeping in low around the house corner the hawk soared over my face, surprised that I wasn't a dove for morning prey, flew on effortlessly through the thicket of branches after his pride.

When you met the old golden hawk in front of our Mary statue and blue dove, what a surprise he had as your arms opened in front of his face and wings. Out popped the dove from his split second of reflex release, and the golden hawk rarely showed himself again in our gardens. He found easy pickings on a neighboring road, literally cruising the street at low altitude as I walked the dog. What a surprise, to be buzzed by a golden hawk in an established neighborhood during full morning sunshine. The bird and dog shared the same coloring of gold, blonde and white. The golden hawk was larger wingspan, broader and brighter than the brown hawk who visits now.

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My families came to Texas when It still belonged to Spain.

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