The Old Heron

Grace

created in

vertical lines

tall

leaves a

a thin shadow

on the earth

a discipline

of stillness

standing

statuesque

left behind

in a pond

when he grew old

a ripple

from a minnow

a quick jerk

the bony lips

captured

his only meal,

head pointed

heavenward

in a yoga stance

he appears to give

thanks to his god

for his meagre sustenance

slowly his body rises

in undulating flight

a poem in motion

into advancing twilight

and  residuum.

Hazel Ross