The leading edge of Spring's wave,
has thrown up a new cohort of blackbirds.
The God of Design
washes his hands in the surf.
"These come with the highest spec,
nothing to do with me".
And vanishes.
One glance at that
yellow bill and beady eye.
"Cor! He's fit!
says Miss Blackbird.
And, for sure,
Mister kept himself fit
during the winter storms,
perfecting his chirrup
and his clockwork bounce.
He's a survivor,
ready now to throw his
genetic hat in to the ring.
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