My wife likes birds. She is smitten with the cardinals that are with us in the good weather.
My lady arises and opens the shade,
And bends at the waist to peer out of the pane,
Where my rival intones his melodious refrain.
I lie on our cool morning bed, yet unmade.
His love song enthralls her, she hears and obsesses.
No part of her mind is on me or our bed.
Her thoughts are ablaze with his feathery red.
I gaze on the form her brief nightgown caresses.
On guard, my opponent, I’m stealing your tune!
I’ll learn it, refine it, and bring it alive.
I shall serenade her at five-forty-five,
And steal her attention away from you soon.
But no, there’s your color. She aches for a glimpse
Of your bright apparel. My clothing is lame.
I’ll hie me to Kohl’s™, for a shirt bright as flame!
My color, not yours, shall then capture her glance.
But, no, there’s your flying; she loves you for this.
Had she wings of her own and the power of flight,
She’d fly off to find you, and with you alight.
You’ve won her, my rival, by bringing her bliss.
But still I’ll adore her fine form from this view,
And watch her as closely as she watches you.
© 2014, Paul Erlandson
