None dare disturb the Cardinals Wife.

Not junkos,
just elevated from dirt pecking
to perch eating, having mimicked the titmouse
after much ground level observation,

not the selfish finch
who otherwise would
boldly threaten any foolish enough to hint at shareing,

not black capped chickadee,

not nuthatch,

not even the fat,
old squawking
blue jay,
whose aviary obesity
overwhelms the balanced feeding bar,

not even,
dare I say it,
His Emminense Himself.

No,

The Cardinals Lady dines alone,

slowly,

graciously,

one shiny, gray-stripped, sunflower kernel

at

a

time.

For no noble bird is so borish
as to disrupt

Beauty
while she sups.

Their charming, galant, silent obsience serves
as quiet dining conversation,
quite enough.