Already accustomed to the procedure,
it isn't long till one
flutters down from the sky to clutch
the edge of my hand;

a moment more to twitch and eye
the seed in my palm, select
two or three, and flit away—

—such delicate talons!

the sensation lingers, engendering
a tenuous ache
—a millet of love.

Larry Kimmel

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/feeding-chickadees-in-winter/