by Connie Jarka

The chickadee
 hangs under the eves
finds treasure we don’t see;
He pecks and then he flies away,
I watch him and wonder what it could be.

Bugs or seeds
Left over parts of weeds,
Or just moisture dripping down;
Like all of us, no fame no fuss,
In life it might be about what is laying around,
  we too have found.
Though not too sure about the hanging up side down..