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Wings of a Bird


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Had I wings of swift or swallow, swooping over hill or hollow, slicing sky with outstretched muscle, would I feel my feathers rustle? If I were a gull or puffin, navigating mirrored roughing, wingtips skimming swelling’s faces - ocean’s sprayamour's embraces? Were I but a pin-tailed whydah – hover, chase, the deftest glider, sole owned trees, have wives aplenty; would my life be that of gentry? Yes, each time I see them flying, heart and soul unite in sighing. Nature’s single biggest blunder: Me - denied the wings of wonder! ____________________________________________ NOTE: It seems there’s some confusion understanding my pride and joy! *grin* Perhaps this will explain it better? Wings of a Bird Had I wings of swift or swallow, swooping over hill or hollow, slicing sky with outstretched muscle, would I feel my feathers rustle? (This stanza is fairly straight forward, I’m sure) If I were a gull or puffin, navigating mirrored roughing, wingtips skimming swelling’s faces - ocean’s sprayamour's embraces? (In this stanza I’m trying to portray the movement of the sea. “Mirrored” for reflections of sky and clouds, “roughing” for the ever moving water, wind swept spray, breaking of waves and the fact that the surface keeps on changing. “Swelling’s faces” again because each swelling or wave looks different to the previous one and you never really see the same “face” twice although they may look similar. Were I but a pin-tailed whydah – hover, chase, the deftest glider, sole owned trees, have wives aplenty; would my life be that of gentry? (This stanza describes a pin-tailed whydah, a very small male black & white bird with a bright red bill and a very long thin tail. It’s name in Afrikaans, my home language, translates to “king red bill”. This bird is very aggressive towards other birds and chases them from any tree or area which he considers his territory, even if they were there before him, or much larger. On average the males have between 3 and 4 females, but we have one in our garden who has six!) Yes, each time I see them flying, heart and soul unite in sighing. Nature’s single biggest blunder: Me - denied the wings of wonder! (Like the 1st one, this stanza is easy)



© Mistral
2009-01-23

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