Brightly you danced, like yellow and red stars in the daylight.
Found in a yard, above a small wooden fence.
First domesticated by American tribes,
Bread, a snack, cakes.
But fare as well for blackbirds,
resting on your illuminated face.
Plucking dark seeds – a harvest.
High upon the mountain were you found,
not far below Stuart Peak.
While resting, waiting on a fellow rider, my son,
I spied you, yellow, atop your celestial green canopy.
Bold as brass, you held your lofty post.
You hunted without a web,
Briefly a fly within your grasp,
Only escaping to be a meal for another.
Fare for the blackbird are you as well.