BALLET OF THE BIRDS
by
Donna Bradley McGlone
August 26, 2009
Upon the high wires row on row
They take their places for the show
Some late arrivals cruising low
Above the smooth lake's fiery glow,
Before they rise to take their places
Between the others even spaces.
They're all assembled facing west
To watch the red sun go to rest.
Now with evening homage paid
I view a whirling bird parade!
The birds' ballet will not begin ---
Black snowflakes driven by the wind!
Swirling high and swooping low
This way and that the dancers flow.
A tornado of intricate motion!
A sunami rolling in the ocean!
In sunset's orange afterglow
It seems they don't know where to go.
Then some begin to disapear
Into the dark lake very near.
One by one their purple heads
Sink into their watery beds.
The aerial ballet is suddenly done.
Ending as quickly as it had begun.
Purple martins settle down to sleep
'Mongst reeds o'er Nimisila's deep.
I sit in darkness filled with awe!
Do I hear a waterfall?
Or is it the martin's feathery wings
As they strum upon their reed harp strings
A lullaby to soothe their fright,
E'er they rest from daylight's endless flight.
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