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A birdhouse hangs below a spire
To feed the avian friends through winter.
The spotted woodpecker that was rescued
Comes to the garden with its mother.
The blackbird has a worm in its beak,
And dashes to feed its babies.
The lilacs look lovely,
With violet flowers in clusters;
The white flowers crown the Zierapple tree,
And even the white rhododendrons are flourishing.
A fox comes furtively over the meadow,
Followed by a deer and a doe,
Nibble rose petals and berries among the bushes.
The blackbird’s melodies
Charm me in the evenings,
From the neighbour’s rooftop
Or a TV antenna in a nearby house.
The Schwarzwald wind from the Vale of Hell
Sings to the leaves of the willow at dusk.
The finches, robins, wrens and titmice frequently appear
And leave with titbits in their small beaks.
The sparrows fly in formations,
Followed by Kohlmeise and Blaumeise.
Forest birds visit the garden:
Kleiber, bullfinch, jays and spotted woodpeckers.
Last year was a winter derived of birds,
Even the blackbirds were rare visitors.
I planted bushes which bear berries,
And put up a pool for the birds.
What a delight when a blackbird
Sat in the water and enjoyed a quick bath;
The eyes moving around cautiously
For signs of danger.
In winter when the snow lies thick over the fields
It’s difficult to search for food.
The titmouse, robin and finch come
To the balcony and birdhouse.
They all relish corns and seeds.
The robins and blackbirds prefer millet,
Rolled oats and dried grapes.
In the blue sky like in Monet’s painting with poplars,
Eagles and hawks glide in wide circles,
Looking for field mice and other rodents
Or one of my friend Franz Wiesler’s pigeons.
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