Wagtails wag
their tails warily,
Stonechats chatter,
Storks talk
about it,
And magpies
natter,
In both
Eurasian and Iberian tones;
but, these
species are not alone,
And down on
the strand,
Things are
getting out of hand.
Turnstones
have turned every stone,
Sad sandpipers
pipe despairing laments,
Grebes, shag
and cormorant all duck and dive,
But snipe do
not snipe,
They swerve,
dodge and sneak away,
Through
reeds and sedge at the water’s edge
Gulls rise
in skeins
From the
slipway,
And ride the
wind out over the cape,
To join the
wild geese,
Far, far
away
For exile is
their destiny.
Since none can
cope,
With prying
bins and scopes.
Birds are
themselves,
And do not exist,
Just to be
ticked off,
On your
list.
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