Jungle mist clinging
to the edge of the woods.
Of brightly colored flowers and feathers
amongst the chaos
of the trees.
Birds hoping to survive for their purpose
of having the most wonderful,
Perfection is an expectation,
though an unknown concept to the bird,
who knows each belief or instinct
or natural inclination will mean nothing
tomorrow, when the sun has come and gone.
Some dancing birds
will dance for all their days.
It is a wonder that wings have evolved four times now;
individual aspirations once.
Poetry and photography by Hazel J. Hall.
Leave a Reply