Little blackbird.

It is winter.

You know where to find the tasty morsels.

You toss the wet leaves on the grass.

The little creatures scurry.

Too late.

Your bright yellow beak picks them up.

You have been busy from early morning;

Scratching in the soil

Along the raised beds

Looking for snails.

There is abundance of provision for you.

You know where to find it.

When I open the door

You rise and dart over the fence.

You will come back to forage later

Among the plant pots.

Thank you for your company.