*ON SEEING TURQUOISE PARROTS*
The little parrots flutter down, like gilded leaves just shed
Their wings edged opalescent blue with a brilliant flash of red
They disappear amidst the grass to feed upon the ground
Reaching, picking, crunching, scratching but making not a sound.
A common fright, they quickly rise to an ancient cypress tall
Concerned alarm broadcast around with a shrill excited call
They perch so still and silent as paying not a heed
Then on some unseen signal they disappear at speed.
I hope again to see these little jewels extant and free
But have this awful feeling that maybe this won’t be
Their innocence and beauty so tragically passé
It seems to me that they belong to a time that’s slipped away.
*Geoff Ryan*
2011
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