The Empty Feeder

the one who feeds them has died

Fluttering fury
tiny snaps of seeds consumed
jittery jumps
peeps and calls
and rain of shells

How long will they come here
to search, to eat,
to fight for primacy
or at least a small corner
of plenty
those invited
next to intruders and
bandits
Lilting song
beside jarring call
brilliant feather
next to mundane
and everyday

Why do they come
to be nourished in this
contrived way
when God has provided
so wide a world
in which to live
and die

Where will they go
when bin is empty
and there is no one
who cares anymore?