The Heron Poem by Gert Strydom

The moon is aflame while it is still rising,
glows orange-red and brings a feeling
of danger to the night
and under the blue-white specks of stars
I do notice a solitary heron
standing on its long legs at the march
with its long neck and bill bended down
where sickle shaped it is etched against the moon,
against the reflection of the shallow lake
before it screeches out its call,
do spear a small wiggling fish
which it does swallow down its bill
and stands still as if in a trance.

© Gert Strydom