The Downy Woodpecker

He tapped upon the window pane

With firm and loud staccato sound

A downy bird, he came again

Who yesterday lay on the ground.

I held him weakened in my hand

And stroked his back, his wings, his breast

Softly that he might understand

I spoke of life as I caressed,

Encouraging again his flight.

He would not leave but wrapped his feet

Around my fingers gripping tight,

The heart within him strongly beat.

I have held birds in whom the light

Grew fainter with each failing breath

But this one suddenly took flight

He had no time as yet for death.

I watched him on a nearby tree

His grasp was sure, his joy once more

Of life regained and ecstasy.

I walked inside and closed the door.