Loads of ripe cherries

High in the tree

Out of reach of human hands

But not from beaks you see.

Blackbirds, pigeons and magpies

Each have their fill

Of sweet red cherries

They have the skill,

Of flying high above me

Pecking at the fruit

Eating all the ripe ones

In their aerial persuit.

Sweet red cherries

Small and round and neat.

I go without

And the birds get a treat!