A Great Blue Heron

 

A great blue heron stood majestic,

his head held high as if he, not I,

owned the pond next to my barn.

He took measure of me, and I of him,

as he stood at water’s edge,

Framed by reflective morning sky.

 

You’ve made yourself welcome, friend,

so have a fish or two—there are plenty for you—

but spare my bullfrogs if you would.

I’m fond of their evening chatter,

The croaking from the gut

about who know what,

the low bellowing of their songs.

 

A great blue heron stood stately,

his head held high as if he, not I,

was master of my busy barn pond.