The Northern Flicker is a handsome bird
thinks the Widow Wyile
she admires his accents
the dashing spots upon his waistcoat
the definitive black crescent collar
displayed right outside her window
as he pauses on a lilac branch
soon to bloom white like the sea
of violets carpeting her lawn
the expanse fringed by forget-me-not blue
bold dandelion gold and buttery pale petals
five of wild strawberry
punctuated by the rapidly towering bristles
of the millennial marvel scouring rush
abundant oregano already mounding
all about in boundless profusion

The Flicker fairly disappears
amid the foot long growth
his elegant tawny stripped tailcoat
engulfed by flourishing flora
but for the tell-tale scarlet kerchief
at the back of his head
showy flash upon quietly dapper
pearl grey and pale russet top
flamboyant triangle beacon
by which she seeks to track the dashing
bobbing chap neatly aerating the lawn
with his long rounded bill 

a perfect suit she thinks
the combination of all her favourites
spots, stripes, plus a scarlet soupçon
to perfect attention