At the Winter Feeder

His quill doused dull
by ice and cold,
the cardinal hunched
into the rough frost, green feeder
but ate no seed.

Through binocolo I saw
festered and malnorished
his beak, broken
at the root.

Then two: one blazing, one gray,
rode the swirling weather
into my vision
and lighted at his side.

Unhurried,as if possessing
the patience of God,
they cracked sunflowers
and fed him
beak to wounded beak
choice meats.

Each morning and afternoon
the winter long,
that odd threesome,
that trinity of need,
returned and ate
their sacrement
of broken seed.

Poem by John Leax
Rearranged by Aygaius.