long before he is seen
his call is heard
distinctive, unmistakable
that shrill whistle
pierces morning air
there in bold splendour
perched proudly
on the tallest branch
his look out
a silver birch sentinel
leafless dangling tresses
cold on the cusp of spring
a keen eye surveils
all in country gardens
prior to lift off
magnificent in wing spread
perfect in flight
forked tail and red/brown feathers
glide at an angle
before soaring
blue sky Tuesday
there is no sadness
in his parting
he will return for sure