A Thrush Poem by Juan Olivarez

There is a thrush, with red eyes,
Drinking water from a plate.
Turning her head up to the skies,
Always conscious of her fate.

Her long curved beak, like a scimitar,
Dipping in the liquid clear.
I wonder if she's been flying far,
Water dripping from her beak, like tears.

Those fiery eyes, turn now on me,
As she flies up to the oak.
Flying up her spirit free,
And a song of thanks, comes from her throat.

12/1/10 Alton Texas