Untitled Poem
In a Cotteswold cornfield, a wheatear nest -
within, its brood – cleverly constructed twix
gathered-together stalks bound around by beaks
and beam. The contents almost scream, their
felt-for urgent need extreme, for food.
An absurd bird guards its nest amid the stones
In the field. Calling announces the yield of brood
upon the ground. And, vulnerable to
indistinguishable predators around,
amazingly, the curlew undaunted calls from the stones.