Love Poem For The Native Birds

Where do Crow drop their feathers?

I have found Pigeon, Sparrow, and Thrust.

The Crow must hide them well,

Or fetch them up when they have fallen.



I have never seen a live Condor in the wild.

They say the skies used to be

Littered with them. Thousands

Of flying Ostrich with wing-span

Greater than their bodies.



I suppose litter is the wrong word to use.

Maybe that is how Crow think of things.

So damn tidy, those Crow.

As if, they never want things to change.



Damn, gloating Hawk.

He thinks he is so big and proud.

I wish just one Condor would come along

And show him things are not that different,

Only there are a lot more Vermin around

Than there used to be.



I still see a Crane every now and then.

And every once in a while

A strange bird the Crow and Lizard

Seem to protect.



She must be Native.

But she looks unknown to me.

I want to meet this bird

And nest within her feathers

For as long as the Native Bird flies,

Or as long as I can hold my breathe.



Whichever comes first.