fweet thrushes

fwit fweet fweet fweeet

the grey thrushes
have formed a gang
and are playing tag
in and out
of bush and scrub

across the road

back again

a swooping – fwit fweet fweeet – glide
a hop
a leap
and away

this morning
while I took the air
outside on the verandah
there was one

large eyed
curious
companion
one long – fweeet– whistle
and he was gone

now –
the cacophony subsided –
a single thrush
perhaps the friend of morning
pecks contentedly in the grass

no sign that her demure pose
would ever be disturbed
by so much as a solitary

fweet


© Frank Prem, 2015

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