a poem by Kevin Bosco

Get a glimpse of those passerines
One can’t eschew the view!
Can they be any more filled of life,
Or further avid could them get?

How hoary have I begin to be,
Devoid of any lustre
Hitherto I winged down
After my spun out flights

Ever have been I such heedless,
And got countless hues to flaunt?
Wondering myself, daundling desolate,
With no more quills to shed.

Haven’t had the look-in to exude
Or to perch down and brood;
Flying was I always, far flung, for
Twigs tackling the tweaking sky.

Still; plush drupes we chomped,
And plunged in wide lochs.
Never sought through odd chows
Or flopped down frail’s inert.

Lazing in dark greens, never were
We pinced cozened by ogres;
How be it, muddled am I here in this
Tapered grove, brewing a glide!