The Third Of July - Poem by Steven Federle
I move to the back yard
and in the shade of my umbrella
in the soft, warm breeze,
I sit very still
the mockingbird call.
I see his tail-feathers
waving in avian semaphore,
enticing his mate
to love in the swaying tree,
while stretched on the fragrant grass,
alert ears pointed skyward,
my cat hears everything
and, finding happiness,
closes her eyes.
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