Art by Norman E. Masters
black bird, atop my gray fence post
while yet the sun of this high noon
shimmers a jeweled mirage
in bronze and purple feathers.
I will not turn,
for as I passed,
I saw your gold, michievous eye...
and you would think to fool me bird
with that mock-human whistle?
We are alone here,
you sleek bird, and I
in Spring's green meadow.
For you it may be morning in the world,
but I will never turn again in May
to any piping human's bird song