On a Wing

I hesitated. The noisy miner was wing-spread

and balancing, a firm flutter of span so steady

and intent that I stood still playing statue,

one leg mid-step, the other steadying my gait

so as not to stir. But I was no-one this cold

morn. The red of the salvia and mandevilla

drew both of us, such a flush of blush

colouring this wintery dawn.

 

Copyrighted by the author

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