The bird seemed to follow my roving eye
As he walked beyond where I lie
He seemed to know, with eye I spy -
Sitting there that day.
He never seemed to have a care
No matter for how long I stared
Or how controlling was my glare
He was there, it seemed, to stay
He gave out a little chirp
Like page from a book, like an excerpt
Like a song performed at a concert
He flapped from chair to chair
He was regal in nature, and replete
He'd had a little bit to eat
He walked with ease, with those clawed feet
As I got the camera out
I realised the camera was obsolete
My phone would do better, would always beat
The phone's quality, the camera couldn't meet
Of that I had no doubt
The bird stood atop the chair, to reflect
I told him; 'stay there, don't neglect'
Attention sent, ne'er deflect
To bird sitting on the floor
The bird, he turned, to his right
Knowing the bird on the floor was within sight
He waved his wings, as if in flight
Before he moved away
Yet how was I to know he was a 'he'
He could as well have been a 'she'
So long as it was either 'he' or 'she'
'He' must be one or be the other
Is this a poem or a diatribe?
For until now I've not described
What he (or she [or it]) looks like
And how it came to be...
I happened to be sitting in the rain
Under cover, (heat was hot), the day the same
Noiselessly the day begane
And then continued on...
As bird arrived, with clawed feet
'Hello', it seemed to say, 'we meet,'
Though nothing was said when we greet
We merely doffed our 'hats'
Black and white, with long neck
His eyes, no matter - oh, what the heck!
I still don't know, not now, not yet
Perhaps I never will
But somehow this bird seemed a friend
The way he'd look and turn his head
It's hard explaining, even when
I knew he wouldn't stay
He looked at me, right in the eye
Turned his head from left to right
Never went out of my sight
Well, not now at least,
Not yet
Looking me right in the eye
Makes me wonder; 'Heavens, why?'
I didn't push, I didn't pry
To find the colour of his eyes
That day when we met
No matter whether rain or shine
With me laying, sitting, there, he's fine
Never once did he whinge or whine
We talked 'bout little things
'Bout the simple things in life
Weather, health, things of that type
Simple things bring pleasure, like
Bring happiness and fun
He's my bird, I hope you see
Black and white, he sat with me
Not away on some pine tree
But close to where I lay
My bird finally flew away
I said; 'bird, I'll see you another day
Even if I'm far away -
I'll know just where you are.'
I returned and saw you 'round the bend
Beaked, clawed, winged, my feathered friend
We greeted, like only we
Could comprehend - Our story -
Close the book...
The end.
sensualism 