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Green Given Giving
A vagrant bird of kiwi greens
made perch along the nesting streams.
Little more than few chirps were heard
resonating from his grotto
in all his days of solitude.
When he lunged to embrace the gust,
he took to glide and found himself
suddenly amidst a bold din:
this fluttering rainbow of kin,
set about in fevered retreat
from the angry threats of the cold.
As they came to land, so did he,
and quick he was then with his song,
no matter the luster it lacked.
No glamor was given, nor feigned,
and it came his turn to show tail
as he flailed away, resolute.
But not far, as he wasn't through,
and time could only abide him.
He returned to their cloyed clergy
with feathers fanning and mottled;
baby-talons tapping, clawing,
and making rhythms from his rave.
Little notice granted, but some,
and that was finally enough
to warrant the giving of gifts.
Some noticed the green bird's absence
for the few moments that it was,
but all caught sight of his return
with a leaf-ridden branch out-held.
On its frail and shrinking fingers,
there were berry clusters of green -
sharing the color of their tow.
At this, the lot could bend and eat,
for it was the giving of friends.
Now this patterned flock is dotted
by scattered flecks, like tiny leaves,
of a specific shade of green.
Where his dances and song had failed,
one might even say greed prevailed,
for he found it wise to provoke
the needs of many, all at once.
In the chaos he had found love,
proudly reared their eggs in sermon,
and died among the kin he'd earned.
