Feathers
the color of an azure sky,
speckles spread across her wings,
a crown atop her head,
the blue jay swoops from the telephone wire
in my back yard
to the limb of my neighbor's oak tree.
A cry in the distance catches her attention.
She bobs her head from side to side and side to side
and side to side again.
She calls; her shrill voice blares in the summer air
like a brassy horn.
In a heartbeat she flies off: dinnertime for her young.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem