Into the muddy ground,
How can you ask me to be tired
Of fundamental beauty?
On such a dreary morning,
Distracted, cold and wired,
Driving the countless thousandth iteration
Down my hopeless, hapless freeway,
As ever I was scanning
Roadside marshes, borrow ditches, fired
With the need for signs of life, of worth,
When, in a rain-filled puddle
Where a gravel truck was mired,
A brilliant white, a flash, a flame,
Ecstatic, dancing, snowy egrets
Anticipating mating time.
Leaping, weaving narrow necks
One upon the other, they transformed
That sordid venue into paradise regained,
With serpent unexpired.
©2004 John I. Blair