Considering The Bluebird Poem by Dani Millar

Genius siala, a modest master
of music and song, he is robed
in royal blue. Air is ample.
He needs to rest. Maybe
he will sing a song (or two)
in a peaceful, prideful pitch.

Prideheart. His waterblue wings
start to spread again. He is off.
Watching for worms,
his baby, blueberry head
barely moves as he hunts. I cannot confess
what kind of pretty power is at work. He dives
down, and dines.

What is a bluebird's furor? I do not notice!
Such a sweet, suave soul. His soothing
songs impugn the hunter inside. His recherché
mien moves me. His ebon eyes stare at me in
awe and affection. A playful pet. Snacker of seeds.
He hovers high once more, to manoeuvre me home