The Lifer - Poem by Mick Zerr
A look, a sound, a flash, a feather,
Necks crooked, glass up, focus.
Make no mind what the weather.
We must see it, and make a fuss.
A lifer perhaps, for county or state,
A goal of some, the passion of others.
Seldom found, a lifetime to wait.
Fun to share with birding brothers.
Will it be new on the list?
A gift from Mother, or God if you will.
Knowing not if it be hit or miss.
Either way ‘twill be a thrill.
More have come, with glass at ready,
Having heard rumor of feathered rareness.
Who started it still a mystery.
Perhaps a joke so they can watch us.
The tree of suspicion now in sight
All ears at perk and fingers crossed,
The sun now making perfect light.
We must see it at any cost.
As leaves rustle and breaths are held,
Like statues waiting for the apparition.
Glasses up, to eyes they weld,
Ready to partake in this great tradition.
Now the wait will soon be done
As this lifer birding comes to peak,
With friends and others having fun,
All in hope for the bird we seek.
Seen at last, it takes to flight
Indeed a beauty sleek, with a song to love.
But birders just sigh at the sight.
Behold ‘tis but a Mourning Dove.
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