The stork and roseate spoonbill must be friends. There's no way around the display we saw. As the tall stork stooped to the rippling bends In a three-point stance with its walking jaw, The spoonbill came swooping; probing it draws Like a metal detector its flat beak Back and forth through the water as it trawls Behind the wood stork's singular technique. They carry along this way for a streak Before they happen on the bank of sand. Together they create a most unique Sight: the spoonbill prancing while the stork stands. Then they both settle, basking in the light, These two wading birds, one pink and one white.
A place for my poems 