This place is ours now.
As once it was.
Shy (despite her trumpeting, vermilion breast),
She now lingers, atop the fence.
There is time to tweak out the hoped-for morsel.
We lift our voices –
At dawn, at midday, at dusk.
We are heard.
Trills, warbles, coos.
No longer drowned by engines’ thrum.
The humans have slowed.
What could have made them change –
They’re keeping to their nests now.
Food is left,
Time is taken,
And as we peck and preen and ruffle,
They look to us.
Touching depths anew,
Easing worry that lines their face.
This heavy crown they carry.
A load we’ll help them bear.