Treasure Island

Paul Gerard Reed


Two Blackbirds


The two of them danced
Not as a couple, but apart
On the wet morning grass
They would prance and dart

They listened, with heads cocked
Until resuming their hopping beat
Then acutely stopping again to listen
To the worm castes beneath their feet

He black, her brown
Inspecting the garden at random
For fresh evidence to solve the crime
Like Morse and Lewis in tandem

Sweet blackbirds, with unbridled hope
My dreary morning re-born
With your effervescent hunt
For the spoils below the lawn

Submitted: Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, May 27, 2014

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Topic(s): nature

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