We should worry about tree.
It had no words in its mouth.
Birds had to find elsewhere.

Gardener was grateful man.
He had words for the winter,
Less autumn words to rake.

Crows were badly exposed.
You saw white inner bodies
Below a wet black weather

Under  tongue lashing rain.
We would look up blue sky
To find silver fish swim in it

No more leaves are between.
Tree had fewer birds to host.
Slum kids mocked elsewhere.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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