The Way

A falcon hovers in the sky
And looks to be about to dive
But spreads its wings and starts to fly
And leaves its easy prey alive.

Across the fields, a cuckoo’s call
Is carried on the gusty breeze,
As if to caution one and all
To keep away from these, its trees.

And, here, a crow struts through some maize
That only comes up to its chest.
And, though I’ve travelled untold ways,
I like this one I’m on the best.

There’s so much birdsong all around;
I’ve never heard a sweeter sound.

Photo by Anisur Rahman on Unsplash

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