When you came into your fullness, 

your spring of pure white maturity, 

did you glide over still millponds

with your mute brethren, backlit, 

serene & beautiful;  

the sweet final scene 

of a fairy tale

adapted to the modern screen? 

​

I prefer to envision your bevy

squawking a landing 

                 clamorous squad of 

    bruising wings              hungry beaks

creating mayhem in farmer’s fields

crapping on cars 

             & lines of                clean laundry

trumpeting your unlikely survival 

         your delight in a 

                  new license to thrive