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Bird watching - small poems

I am a voyeur of birds in their bath

I eavesdrop on their tiny conversations

I listen to their songs while wandering along

And ponder possible translations.




Without fail, the quail come running

In quick succession, rolling along,

on their tiny feet like spinning wheels,

with their topknots bobbing

and their distinctive song.




With wing strokes like the thrust of oars,

a great blue heron rows his boat

through the evening air

to quiet waters, distant shores.



How the swans bow their heads

and fold their wings, while floating,

in seeming genuflection

to their rippling reflection… 


Sign languages of the birds:


lLike the runes left by sandpipers along the shore

embellished by seashells, sand dollars and more…



The way the crows curl their toes on take-off to fly,

their black hieroglyphics in sharp contrast

to the Seagulls, white-writing in the sky.

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