• bird •

Just around by the azalea,
down past the crusty old honeysuckle,
a mourning dove is ensconced, quietly, looking,
on the ferrous covering
of the backyard fire pit:
downy lazing fluffery upon an iron grid;
crissed talons lanking
over the banking,
rusting placement,
her humble battlement;
sharp eyes gleam quietly, softly,
relaxed, and yet, quirkily,
looking for the cat.
~ Tim Burchfield
6/16/14

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