POEM 03

Oh those poor stalked birds! Oh those poor stalked birds! Oh those poor stalked birds!

How they must suppose at camera lens and googly eyed binoculars trained on their every flight; magnifying or snapping up their sweet feathered sight.

High and low, invading their privacy, tracing their nests and perches for game or sport or fancy pastime.

Starlings fly in murmurated protest. Small Sparrows regret their pry. A thrush cocks his little brown head at a woman in bright pink. “Interesting feathers” he likely

thinks. Her great round eyes do look odd following, following his every flap or blink or nod.

Oh those tragic winged creatures, trying to elude the bird watchers hunt!