The Hunt

I went out walking, looking for a tune
Striding in rhythm, tongue on the move
Eyeing the branches, searching for a groove -
a singular note, a marker or a rune
Going in deeper, hunting for trill
Ready to feast now - a whale to its krill

Shuffling past now, a swamp that seemed still
I noticed a heron and she was ready to kill
The music her beak made as she was stabbing that frog
Pierced my heart, presenting as song
I was glad to hold it for a minute or two
'til it flew away then - a bird passing through

And in that brief moment, between here and there
Well I caught yet another - this one was too fair
To put in my pocket or to place on the page
Dissolving like mist that rests in the glade

I came home with little
But little will do
So long as its essence is supple and true

I came home with little
But little will do
So long as its essence is supple and true

I came home with little
But little will do
So long as its essence is supple and true