Plovers by Grant Fraser

They are pensioner birds of considered gait,
Who studiously avoid stepping in something unpleasant,
Whilst searching relentlessly for the bright worm.
They so carelessly dropped those years ago.
Not for them the high safety of nests and trees,
Their freckled eggs are laid at austere rest on the ground
For all the world to ogle:
The cost of their improvidence is eternal vigilance.
From beneath their pastry snoods
They squawk their manic alarms
Raising the bluff of their spiked wings — a feathered canopy
Above the reddish knobble of their tiny knees.
You might have heard them at evening as their cries
Lacerate the transit from day into night.


Date: 2021

By: Grant Fraser (19??- )

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