A very good Bird

There’s a bird,
if you look through the double pane
it is minding its own business,
as it stares through the glass
at the balcony full of plants, and sudden bud —
fiery, peach, innocent, blossoming bud.

Bird stares away, sings a song, and dances
till the stars start circling from the east, to the dawn
and the bird stares again.

Bird imagines going through the glass,
to say hi to the budding petals,
but stumbles
fears the blaze (or the freeze).

The bird dances, alone.
Comfy, pleasant dances with a tweety song.

Outside,
something happens.

Green, blue, red, orangutan.
So many colors, but the peach.

Oh, and the balcony is now gone.
The skyline is there, but it is bare.
But the double pane, still here.

Bird averts its stare.

Evening looms.
Bird orders doordash for dinner.