Patiently sits a Purple Heron in the weeds,
Slender neck merging with tall stalks of Grass,
Staring into the distance, eyes like beacons - waiting.
Waiting for an opportune moment to feed and
Lift away into the ether, to soar gracefully and
Like a jet thunder into the infinite.
“What thoughts do fill your mind – dread visions
Or sweet dreams - lost lakes and shrinking ponds
Or abundant lush wetlands with friends so many!”
Eyes like beacons flash, waiting for something
To happen? If only - if we’d read the warning
Of things that were and things that are to be!
But then, perhaps, tis just the pensive thought of
One drunken with air so fresh, so much green, of
Sight of Great Heron waiting to feed!
Late,r the purple Heron does find a fish one size
too big and swallows it whole! Disgusted, I turn
Away but then we all need to feed, don’t we?
Satiated with its morning feast, the Heron lifts
Into the blue sky, great ponderous wings
Claw into the air like a thundering Jet’s wings.
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