Every day you are the only finch 
who visits the bird table at my feet. 
All the rest of them stay on the feeders 
up at the top of the garden. 

If I move while you eat, even just a little bit, 
I see your tiny body tense 
ready to jump/fly off. But you don’t.
You fix an eye my way and

pause. 
I slowly nod or blink.
Then you carry on with your quiet feast.
How brave you are, I think.

Occasionally you do go to join them 
up at the top of the garden. 
But I see it’s always a struggle for you, 
little one. I watch you take your time, carefully 

choosing your approach. Hopping slow and dodging, 
I see you take the smallest space at the feeder. 
I notice how you glance around at them all, 
like they’re strangers. 

And I see them turn their tails, edge away, 
raise their wings and peck at you 
till you leave their group and swoop straight back
to the bird table at my feet. I see it all.

Cut out. Nowhere else to turn.
I see you trying to get back in,
again and again and again. 
How brave you are, I think.