The Bird on My Front Yard


Feathers white as snow, beaks the color of October pumpkins
Long slim neck bent like an old grandpa's cane
Tiny head bobbles front and back
The bird on our front yard looks for tadpoles in the water

All of a sudden, necks shaped as the letter S, it is still as stone
Stuck in that uncomfortable position
Awaiting the right time to snatch up the prey
Ah, the bird on our front yard turns around without any luck

Defeat does not discourage this bird
It starts the same routine again and again
I get frustrated watching the bird hunt without any progress
However, the bird remains calm instead of squawking in frustration

I leave dried fish around the yard for the bird to eat
But it never touches a morsel
It chooses to continue the difficult hunt
The bird on our front yard is an independent survivor

Another day rises, and again
Feathers white as snow, beaks the color of October pumpkins
Long slim neck bent like an old grandpa's cane
The bird on our front yard continues to roam

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