This little black creature with feathers in breeze
is twitching with eyes that are scanning the scene
to watch for a threat or a chance for a meal
as I keep consuming this moment of real.
Glimmers of sun are in streaks on the beak
that has chosen it doesn’t have wishes to speak,
for it is alone with its wings at its side
with frequent new breaths of his chest showing pride.
Wind keeps on stroking its fingers on neck
so the bird starts to crouch to keep heat in its breast,
still in its search for a reason to fly
from the coldness that stings him as he’s on a wire.
The constant new movements of neck with the blinks
are now pointed to something that has him in think,
so this little sight I was given to take
has now flapped away and my watch is on break.