The Bandit Bird


I am a bandit, so they say.
But that is  not the case.
I wear this mask to hide my face
like the Lone Ranger once did
back when you were just a kid–
there is a reason my face is hid,
it is a secret, not a game I play.
I’ll not reveal it by night or day.

© 2016 Freeda Baker Nichols


A Poem and a Picture


Barn swallows rested on a wire up high.
One carried straw to build a nest this spring.
The other watched, aware of harm nearby.
To warn its mate, the bird commenced to sing.
The little black cat leaped from hayloft door.
The swallows flapped and flew like Peter Pan.
The cat spit-cleaned his paws, to help ignore
the fact that cagey birds outfoxed his plan.


© 2016 Freeda Baker Nichols