The Great Blue Heron's Song

He arrives from the north,
with faithful regularity;
a sunrise glide, of
graceful, blue grey movement on the morning
decending on my thoughts.
Through the marsh and tall grass of unkempt beauty
he wades the ponds periphery
as light beams filter through the woods
falling across his frame.
Patience stands sentinel in stillness
along the banks
where he is always rewarded
with the morsels of land and water...
His long beak cradling fish and frog, as
wings spread and beat against the sky,
he turns to say goodbye and
as he came, so he goes
lifting his frame on high.