He sits upon the fence

and watches, proud chest

puffed in morning ceremony.

He watches the breeze

flit between the leaves

and fallen debris,

skittering across the blades

of grass speckled

with midnight dew.

 

He watches me and you,

the cat too.

A robin red breast

Poppins would say has very

little time to rest,

and yet, he stays

with an amused gaze;

the miniature hawk

of the morning,

dusk in mourning.

 

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Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019