She puts on shows for the crows
That gather thick around her house.
She knows the name of every mouse
That her six cats can’t catch.
On sundays she throws sunflower seeds
And the crows bring her trinkets and lost things
Which she strings together like beads
To wear as jewelry and ornament the trees.
She delights in the din of machines
(Especially helicopters, chainsaws, and trains)
But she finds humans a bit embarrassing
For having need of such things.
She went to school for welding, and
She salvages things from the scrapyard.
She has a shed where she works very hard
But nobody sees what she’s building.
She once found a quarter from Croatia
In her purse, and knew it was a curse.
So she snuck it into a beggars cup
(She sanded it down and polished it up first)
She whittles little bird whistles from live wood
and makes cups from clay from the creek.
She sells them in secret, to a select few,
And she only accepts kisses as currency.
She nibbles on roasted cocoa nibs
And makes her morning porridge from foraged acorns.
She drinks wild chamomile and spruce-tip tea
And eats dandelions and nettles in the spring.
On full moons she climbs the tallest tree
She can manage at midnight, with bare feet.
She howls and hoots like owls and wolves
To sing in the native language of Luna.
If you never knew these things about her
You’d better be careful with my daughter.
As much as I am proud to be her father
I have to admit I’m slightly scared of her.