Catbird

The catbird woke me at six
with his usual mix
of colloquialisms and sayings.

A dead branch on the oak is his pulpit
about ten feet up
where he practices his elocution.
He has much to say
and is quite obsessive about it.
I'm his congregation.

The flower beds are my pew.
It is nothing new
to see me there on my knees.
You might say it's a form of worship
we two conduct
and can go on for hours
as in my youth.

There were services three times on Sunday,
some weekdays too,
and youth group and choir practice
so you knew who
you were expected to be.

I much prefer the catbird and his love of life,
his eloquence from the pulpit.
He abjures all strife,
especially that stirred by religion
and the holy life.