The Hundred-eyed Hunter

It hunts her here; she flits to there; it jumps! -

Then scuttles after her to halt en masse,

Alert, with many-lensed and -legged dark parts,

For any trace of flight from our sweet lass.

A gentle creature, she does not deserve this fate

Of having all revealed when, tired with fear,

She seeks green refuge by some bush or gate

Then finds this hundred-eyed pursuer here!

And yet – the stalker stops, but never stings;

In no way dare it now distress her - lest,

Silent and still, while gazing on her wings,

Its tripod eyes and legs disturb her rest.

For this is not a deadly insect, some black witch –

Just fifty birdwatchers, content to twitch!

(George B. Hill, Apr 2013)

(published in the July 2013 edition of Bird News, the newsletter of the Cheshire and Wirral Ornithological Society)

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Ode to a Wagtail

High above the crowded feet,

Echoed by a walking street,

Bird looks down.

Watcher as the humans race,

Slowing, heavy steps retrace,

Shopped in town.

Hidden from the eyes that throng,

Heard by none – or not a song?

Wagtail calls.

One alone Who makes its fate,

Giving life, but knows each date

Sparrow falls.

Not a wagtail walks aloft

Knows not that bare Make’d soft

Breath of even.

End of life begins another:

No small bird but has a brother

Born in Eden.

(George B. Hill, Apr 2013)