A kingfisher sits on the fence and I tell Olive
To make a wish as it flies away
Just as my grandmother told me
Years ago, when I was still a kid
The kingfisher doesn't budge
So I tell Olive, who has just turned three (in human years, not dog),
To forget the wish as it surely won't come true
If we stare at the bird until it flies away
A woodpecker, a deep red, pecks on the mango tree
Two parrots sit on an overhead powerline
A flock of seven sisters sing their high-pitched songs
And a bulbul builds a nest in the verandah
And so they go about their lives
Just as I go about mine
Each with our own joys and sorrows
Whether brought on by magpies or not
And I hold on to some childish hope
That a brightly coloured, long-billed bird
Unaware of its wish-granting powers
Could bring me luck as it flies away
Word of the day: bulbul
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