Brother Bird

He treads along the line Twigs in hand, eyes on the prize. Hunched over, his small spine Bending at his will, but it cries. He labors all morning Risen before the fog has lifted His solitude simple, not worth adoring Yet appreciated, he’s almost gifted. Willpower like a thundercloud Not seen by all But heard, un ignorably loud. He comes upon what he seeks, and makes the call. Out to brother brown, and father red Out to sister blue and aunt green. They startle, and flit out of bed For there is success to be seen. The worms no longer stand a chance The birds have begun their morning dance.