The Heron

Your wings a pearly white

Your eyes that evanescent blue.

Where do you fly with wings a’heft?

Across that burden blue as a sea of your fears

You soar heavily with that passionate bode

In an attempt to find that shallow cacophonous pond.

There she sits, the frogs that call your name.

They shriek and scatter as you run.

Yet those of lazy greed loft backwards.

and on their bellies pat their mosquito-filled blubber.

The hunger lingers, tassels and conjoins as you sit idle.

And in that maw you hold with you a fiery passion: Your meal of skewered toad.

And in this end you conclude your destiny:

Shall you too become greedy, eating and taking this pond as your own.