Floating sixty feet from your sycamore perch,
I sit against the bank, marveling
at the beauty captured by my lens.
Camera stowed, I drift beneath your stately form.
Your white head turns to track my progress
before you take wing, satisfied with my intent.
This is my response to Quadrille #161: Staying on Track, the prompt from Merril at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use a form of the word track in a 44-word poem (excluding title),
with no required meter or rhyme.
When I originally responded with Winged Sentinel earlier this afternoon, I got so carried away with the image in my mind that I completely forgot that it’s supposed to be quadrille. I hope I’ve captured the same imagery with this version.