Cheep Thrills Poem by John F. McCullagh

This Voyeur with binoculars
sits waiting in the blind,
half hidden by the rushes
That grow tall on either side.
Perhaps I’d spot a Peregrine
or a hawk on the attack.
My camera is beside me, and,
should I catch one in the act.
I’d photograph a mating pair
(but artfully, with tact.)

So far there’s just a flock of wrens
Not much this day I see.
I start to get the strange sensation
that they’re here observing me.