I love the early morning time,

just as the sky is turning grey

and birds in song their voices raise,

in greetings to the dawning day.

And having pushed the window wide,

I sneak into a world of green

there, camouflaged against a rock,

I lie in wait, unheard, unseen.

 

Then all at once they swoop to earth,

to pull worms from the dewy lawn.

I flatten to the sand stone rocks,

twitching tail and sinews drawn.

Closer still they work the grass,

heads cocked to hear a wormy noise.

Quivering I know the time to leap,

a coiled spring, a sense of poise.

 

It’s not in hunger that I hunt.

My food is waiting on a plate.

It’s just an instinct deep inside

that only hunting things can sate

 

 

David Garlick, Victoria, April 1991