The nuthatch, the downy, the flicker,
flock to my suet feeder.
When the green metal holder is empty,
I fill it, but I am no banker.
This is not a loan.
No principle or interest charged.
They still flee from me though.
But once, last winter, a chickadee,
another free loader, but on sun flower seeds,
perched on my hand, pecked a shell,
swallowed the seed, chirped a thank you
and fare thee well.

With consistency, this system succeeds.
Seed, suet and fleeting moments of trust abound.
And, yes, I am amply rewarded by morning
flutter of feathers and the soft sounds of
songs at sunset.