Wednesday, April 5, 2017


I have interrupted the plans of the grayling bird
I sit here amongst the waterfalls, the creeks, the mountains looming
The grayling bird he does his grooming
But not without a wary eye on me
He is confined to the tree
Where he and his mate do flutter
They twitter-twatter without a stutter
They speak of their change of plans

Another couple walks by the brook
To take in the wonder of the place
The birds say, “When will this end, when will this end?
“When will we not see a predator’s face
But instead we will look upon freedom
Knowing no fear at all?”
At least that is what I hear in their call
All the while wondering the very same thing for myself
It is funny how the books on nature’s wide shelf
Can often make just the right difference

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