Cousins

I am a sunbird, and I live in a group;
With a lifelong partner, I’ve looped the loop.
We practice monogamy, faithful and true,
Raising our children—the two of us do.

Hummingbirds are our cousins, distant and far,
But solitary wanderers is what they are.
Males and females meet only to mate,
Then the mother accepts her lone, weary fate.

Poets have written of hummingbirds long,
But forgotten to gift us a verse or a song.
I am not jealous; they’ve talent to spare,
With fancy flying and hover-bound flair.

I live in Africa, Asia, and the Australian heat,
While they claim the Americas, wing-strokes so fleet.
We both feed on nectar and look much the same,
But they have the glamour and all of the fame.

We are called the “hummingbirds of the East,”
Like calling Alleppey a Venetian feast.
It implies they are masters, original and grand,
And we are just copies in a far-away land.

But we have our charms and our skills to display,
Like Alleppey’s houseboats in a shimmering bay.
With lagoons and snake boats that Venice can’t claim,
We are happy being ourselves, just the same.

So I ask of the authors: write of our grace,
Our beauty, our life, and our nesting space.
Our nests are complex—messy, but deep—
A little publicity is a promise to keep.