Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Making Special

The bower birds bring bright blue berries, brush
Their bowers with the juice and decorate
The ground with cobalt glass and flowers lush
With indigo. Blue feathers act to sate
The bower bird’s base blue desires, sure
To lure in females who love deep azure.

The bluebird sings his property, each song
A challenge and a lure, a ritual
Denying entry to the threatening throng
Of rivals as his mate will feel the full
Attraction of each tweet and twittered line
Of earthly love that somehow feels divine.

The crane is dancing, jumping on his plot –
He will not let another cross his line –
He’ll throw his head back, dance a high-kneed trot
To demonstrate he’s strong and bold and fine.
And he will flash the red upon his pate
To show he’s worthy of a healthy mate.

This bower of words was made to lure
My love onto my land, to keep her heart –
I dance my words to make our love endure
And say to every rival, “Go! Depart!”
I decorate my words into a strong
And vibrant verse to sing where I belong.

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