Avian

Avian verses rise with sunrise, Feathered silhouettes sketched across the sky, Each wingbeat a whisper of ancient wind, Plumage polished like jade in morning light.

From the robin’s ruby breast to the swan’s pure glide, Their songs stitch the air with silvery thread, Nests cradled in hedgerows, cliffs, and treetops high— A chorus of beaks, talons, and soft, downy sighs.

In the hush of dusk, owls take solemn watch, Eyes like amber moons probing the shadowed wood, While gulls carve white arcs over salty spray, Their cries echoing the tide’s relentless pulse.

We, earthbound observers, tilt our heads, Marvel at the ballet of wings unfurled, Realising that freedom is not just a place, But the very rhythm that beats within every avian heart.