First We Hear the Melody

Like poetry, more for the ear
than the eye; a songbird's serenade
is more for a lady.

My final love stops in her tracks.
Even the rustle of grass
may counter the song

of the curved-bill thrasher
with a mottled breast,
a sharp "whit - wheet,"

even a three note melody
of low "trills and warbles"

until he spreads his pale
wing bars edged
with pure white tips,

aims for specific greenery
where fragrant mulch
beckons his curved dark bill.

Jim Corner