Poem 117 – The Heron

The heron lumbers on
This prehistoric throwback
Envelopes with its wings
Turning the world to shades
Of grey forboding shadows
When passing overhead

Aloft it struggles to
Maintain its altitude
But on the river bank
Transformed and elegant
It perches, patient, wise
With poised anticipation

Its stillness is unmatched
The clock hand paused
The moment of decision
The throwing of the dart
A single precise strike
Efficient in its catch

Walking home from our Easter service a heron flew over, its struggles a clear contrast to its normal elegance.

© Ben Quant 2022

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 )

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