Triplane Builder



Poems by Triplane Builder - William (Bill) Woodall

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Man Of The Hour

Since snow has changed the landscape's scene
The grass has gone to sleep,
Sounds of plows give comfort,
Those-- errands-- we may keep.

The weighed down branches of the trees,
Lets it cross one's mind
That limbs might fall,
And leave us all-- in darkness so unkind.

But there's this other urgent need--
That's somewhere in my thought
Is the sunflower seed sufficient?
Would I'd bought more-- when I bought!

For there's this group of little birds
That keeps close tabs on me--
Finch and nuthatch-- titmice and such--
And the black capped chickadee.

And when the feeders do get low,
Anxiety's in the air--
You can see the cardinal's accusing eye--
Through the window pane-- out there.

And even as I add more seed,
The chickadees will scold
And question why-- I am so late-
--Since the weather's gotten cold.

It adds to my importance--
To see that I am sought--
That something's greatful I am here,
(And willing to be taught.)

But lest I let my head get large--
Gloat at my new found fame--
Come Springtime all these 'moochers'-- leave-
These birds forget my name.

They move away, and take their song--
(They've other things to do)--
May make a stop-- for old times sake-
If they are passing through-

Right now they really count on me,
To feed their need for heat-
Inviting even friends to feed--
For me-- it's kinda neat.

Bill Woodall







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