The Wilderness Quail
They named me the wilderness quail
I'm not as pretty as other birds are,
my feathers are golden, brown and frail;
I hide when a storm starts and my bizarre
behavior becomes fret, no stone pine
can protect me on a noon with aflare
lightenings crossing the semi-dark atmosphere.
Uncommon and ignored by all I spent
my day searching for food by a lake and wait...
until an unsuspicious lavaret comes afloat,
sometimes he stays at the bottom for fear
and I have to fly miles to provide a meal
for my chicks waiting in the branches of a fir:
I'll be disappointed coming home without a kill!
Although I'm so neglected by all the blue-winged teals,
I consider myself to be humble and kind in deeds:
helping a lost sparrow find her desperate mother
who is searching for him everywhere near a pond,
or a brook where reptiles attentively wait for their prey;
I'll hide him under my wings if he's ever in danger!
By now everybody can guess where this place is:
I dwell in Southern Italy, a land that many envy
for her stunning scenery and delicious fruits,
where no vigilant quail ever goes hungry!
Keep me company and I show you the beauity
and the tranquility of this lovely country!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2020
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