The poetry of birds

16mei14 057

The birds are waiting for something to disturb them
and I oblige, I walk too close.
They fly up in beautiful disorder,
a poem each, and I watch the whole thing
until they land, united and silent,
watching me having hiccups, watching me
walking home slightly limping.

They won’t feel the way I feel for them I think,
but who knows what a bird considers to be poetry.

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Comments on: "The poetry of birds" (14)

  1. Loved this one. I’d have been thinking just the same stuff.

  2. David said:

    “They fly up in beautiful disorder…” A lovely line. The birds would be proud:)

  3. Fabulous Ina! L&H xx

  4. They don’t read poetry, but maybe you and they do have a sort of “poetic” relationship. The poem and photo match well. Lovely.

  5. The metrical currents of wind filtered through wing-feathers maybe?

  6. ‘They fly up in beautiful disorder’ – love that! All of it, but especially the last lines, too. XO β™₯

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