Living alone on a mountain while I wrote my first two books, I wrote this poem about George, a wild turkey who’d come to visit me on warm summer days.
He comes each day to my front door
To feast on seeds and corn and more
At times he on the rail alights
To evoke in me sheer delight.
The momma comes, her brood in tow
To eat their share of the overflow
Of nuts and seeds left on the ground
By George, the only friend I’ve found.
They keep me company, as I live alone
And bring new meaning to my mountain home.
They break the silent, quiet dread
By cooing sweetly from their odd-shaped head.
He always leaves a gift behind
Of scattered feathers that I find—
The deal we made early in the year
Is kept, by George, my friend, so dear.