Sonnet to bird watchers on Marrow Hill, Triscombe, gathering to watch a stray Red-backed Shrike

You men in green, bejewelled with bins and scope,
Shout ‘What’s that there, behind the hedge, tucked down,
A red-backed shrike? Too far off course, some hope!
But look, that cream-streaked breast, black tail, blue crown!’
Heads down like men possessed you probe, you peer,
Page-flip your guides to spot its beak, striped eye,
Confirm the twitch, then tweet ‘First of the year!’
What next then, Red Foot Hawk, Great White, Sea Pie?
You click-snap shut your scopes in the morning light
And trek on to fresh finds, triumphant, blest.
Your stray forgot, dead beat from polar flight,
Squats sullen, dazed, dull-eyed, with panting breast.
Uncaring birders, think as you head for home
Your shrike’s bewildered, fearful, and all alone.