Ode to a Great Blue Heron
Tall and straight; still column.
Upon lengthy stilts it perches.
Silent with its “Oh so quiet” stance.
Lance-like beak forever ready.
Jagged vertical silhouette.
Blending well among upright canes.
Betwixt still sky and rippling water.
Copied by its still shadow.
Waiting, watching, with weapon poised.
Seeking shimmering fish reflection.
Stab! That former fish, just a memory.
Upon great flapping wings, it moves.
Up, up and over tree canopy.
No more at its sentry post.
That former silvery fish, gliding its merry path.
With glint and glide beneath its watery roof,
Alas, soon to be rookery baby food.