Peacock
The season comes around again..
He struts to her
His tail a wondrous fan
Each feather in perfection
Shimmering
Beyond imagination.
The brown hen takes it in
And ruminates.
It is a miracle….the Peacock and his tail.
There are no mirrors in the Peacock’s World
All he can see before him
Is the sweet dull feathered Hen
He needs her desperately...
For immortality,
And as he waltzes out
The tapestry of feathers gleam at her.
Does he appreciate or even know
The art that’s woven there within his stunning tail ?
Or does he only know the feathers of a rival cock ?
Beneath the Choppy SkyAnd if the rival wins…. how lonely that must be for him
As he un-fans his tail again.
Kristine Byrne May 2014