From the stage of my thoughts
This Bird I speak of would like to think it could fit in
where ever placed. While at the same time revils in the
thought that is is some how unique and unconforming. Both
are untrue. This bird is in a sort of middle ground that
other weak creatures find themselves. Here is waits,
unmoveing, safe, rotting, growing and unwilling to change.
You would know it when you saw it. Slender and strange.
It's eyes see so much more then the eyes of others, but
this bird does not sing so all it's wise observations go
unheard. Preahps you'll hear it mock the song of another
but it has never dared use its own tune.
It's legs are narrow aswell. Long and tall. It keeps them
fully extended at all times. This insures that it's
distance from the earth and all that dwell there is as far
away as possible.
It's plumes are perfectly kept and flawless. This is no
doing of it's own. It s not the birds fult that is has
these feathers that others seems to envy so. Mind you it
does know that they are there and that they to some seem so
desired. But they are this way becasue this brid has never
taken flight. It lacks the nerve to let go with it's
tightly locked feet and soar. In truth it envys the worn
feathers that do not sit in place. That have ruffled from
winds, been stained by distant clouds and suns. Or even
those that have broken or fallen as scars of battle.
And so it sits
Always looking up into the distant sky
Always looking up