The Welcome Trespasser
Written by Gail DeBole
July 15, 2017
You quietly hold your head
high as you stand on
the grassy bank - never
gazing back at me.
Your head and neck play
games with the alphabet
as they gracefully
curve into an “S”.
Human boundaries
have no meaning to
you as you gracefully
catch fish next to a
well-worn No Fishing sign.
I think of all of the
times I have watched
unknowing you as you
catch what I suppose is
your lunch…
…in your beak,
Mr. Crane.
Published in PS: It's Still Poetry
Volume II
Copyright © Gail Debole | Year Posted 2017
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