The leaves were off the hardwoods, I could see into the tree, and there I spotted Flicker Wings and back she spotted me.

Feeling bold against the colder months I nodded to her glow, we showed each other what we held, yielding what we know.

And she is a rare bird and I am a bird caller. Soon I'd call her my lover, cause birds of the same feather flock with each other.

And now I can identify by the colors in her chest; identify with the melody she builds within her breast. And simply by example of the lines that draw her face, she gives me daily lessons on the grace of organic shape.

And she is a rare bird, and I am a bird watcher. I could watch her for hours in a birdbath under a downpour of autumnal showers.

I saw in Flicker Wings what she saw in me: the mist and the mixture of love mystery. We could talk for forever and between the sheets where her a couple of poetic feats.

But November pretender, we all have some cuts. To attend to ourselves we must fend for or bust. But the bigger amber that you gave from a flame can cast warmth to help melt through the ice chest of pain.

I can see her in the meadow perched upon her favorite horse that she named after the feeling he wells up inside her heart. Temperature is dropping here as winter rears it's head, I'll invite her swift migration to the quilt-fold of my bed.

She is a rare bird and I am a bird caller. Soon I'd call her my lover, cause birds of the same feather flock with each other.

You know this and she knows this but we're for sure, in poetry and dreams a bird's a metaphor for girl. And I know her given name, we speak the same native tongue. Jamie my love I love you as you are untame and young.

And she is a rare bird and I am a bird watcher. I could watch her for hours under a downpour of autumnal showers.

She is a rare bird, thank God I'm a bird watcher.