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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