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.