morning

Oh happy tree whose branches hold

The heron where she tarries

Awhile.

 

Her curved neck, her beak and legs

Concealed by swaying

Limbs.

 

She bobs her back where feathers neatly tucked

Are pinned to her sides,

Bending in time with bouncing boughs.

 

Then:

Upon a breath of gladdening wind she opens her wings

And flies!

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