The Killdeer (National Poetry Month Day 8)

Mild meadows hold her clutch;
small beak searching out the brush
as grass bends low by crafty touch.

She spies the eyes burning bright;
but valiant wings dare no flight
she flees the nest, chirping fright.

Her stilted legs lack for grace
but they bear her far apace;
far behind, snouts seek the trace.

Cornered she turns on her foes
teeth agleam in pearly rows;
and back through the skies she goes

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s