In a shadowy niche scurry tiny fast feet,
Whose bountiful cheeks hold stash they stow.
Their survival is guaranteed by gift of fleet,
As beady eyes shift while tracking foe.
Thick blood is slow within a chilled vein,
Awaiting Sol’s quickening for its heartbeat.
Stealthily biding on future’s slain,
Rewards are found on trails of deceit.
Exploited wind lifts wings on high,
By faultless quills crafted long ago.
Masters of a spacious sky,
Quietly circles prey below.
Plodding about with abode on back,
Searches out victuals in a steady gate.
Shielded by shell that secures from attack,
Allowing nature's urge to explore for a mate.
Ears alert like Ocotillos in bloom,
Rummage air for an alien sound.
Twitch of the nose discerns pending doom,
And from thumping haunches legs abound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love it James, and I can tell exactly which each one is by your very desft description. Very nice, you are exceedingly talented. Susan