Thompson Emate Poet Quatrain

The Lone Bird

Perched in the golden glow,
It hadn’t come down that low,
It was a small town,
Painted with varying shades of brown.

The commuters looked up in surprise,
They hadn’t seen a bird of that size,
The bird had a yellow plumage,
It was a mystery of the age.

It had come from the highland,
Where it had escaped a poacher’s band,
It was in search of a new abode,
Where predators had no road.

As the sun took its place in the sky,
It spread its wings and flew high
to a place where it wouldn’t be the cynosure of all eyes,
A place where hope lies.


January 6, 2024.

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Martin Braun January 6, 2024 at 7:28 AM I often think, what's become of so many lost pet store birds. Thank you. Thompson Emate January 7, 2024 at 12:48 PM I do think likewise. Thank you for stopping by.