Where the pine line cuts the field
Gray Guardian holds the high
branch pitched in the wind.
watching sky and ground.
Hungry bumble fumble Crow,
egg eater, chick killer, nest robber,
crosses the line.
Gray Guardian fires into the sky,
fast and high into the sun,
flips and dives fearless,
into crow back.
Strike once, strike twice, tiny talons tear,
bumble fumble tumble Crow
falls, trailing black feathers like smoke
recovers and flies
for cover in the pines.
Fierce Guardian rolls
and climbs high again
to strike and hold,
tearing crow neck,
gray and black wings flap against the sky
screaming orange beak, shredded black feathers
whirl toward the ground,
locked in free fall until
Guardian breaks free
to hold the air between
Crow and pines.
Bumble fumble Crow flees
across the field to hide
and preen his torn coat and pride.
Gray Guardian holds the high
branch pitched in the wind,
to sing his victory declaration
to the trees.
Hear me, Crow
I am Mockingbird.
This is my sky.
No chicks die today.