The Marsh


Over the hill and across a meadow so green,
wonderous sights await to be seen.
A creek, a marsh, and a rougish river--
all glisten in fading sunlight like polished silver.
The blinding white-orange sunset signals the day's ending,
water, sun and sky intertwined and blending.
A cacophony of noise and sound fills the air
as evening marsh-dwellers gather in their nightly lair.
A quorum of blackbirds is holding a convention,
a chittering chorus seeking shelter and rest--their sole intention.
The chattering multitude swoops down to congregate;
slender willow reeds bend with their weight.
They flit from water's edge to nearby fields of corn.
In the distance, the cry of snipe--so sad and forlorn,
awakens beaver, muskrat and field mouse--
urging them to seek daily sustenance for children and spouse.
The air is filled with flapping wings and a squawking sound
as ducks and geese seek mates on the marshy ground.
Footprints and debris bedeck the soggy shore,
a sanctuary, a shelter for hungry gray raccoons to explore.
Adding to the evening landscape is a constant drone--
the chirping of crickets and frogs croaking in guttural tone.
As nightfall descends on the marshy pond,
the nocturnal creatures form a survival bond.

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