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Immature osprey
Learning how to fly
Lands in a treetop

Osprey NestThere
Startled by the arrival
Of human presence on
Strange red barges
In the middle of her
Watery meal-place

Mom and dad shift into
Action
Encouraging the young
Osprey to fly
And the human strangers
To leave

Soon enoughOsprey Landing In Nest
The downstream tug
Drags that red craft onward

Enlivened by the excitement
She flies again to the
Safety
Of their nest

~ spontaneously composed by Stan Stewart (while on the family Rogue River trip)
Copyright © 2012 by muz4now, Inc.
All Rights Reserved. 190/1,000
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2 Responses to Poem 0190: Fly

  1. I once heard that, as a river guide, it is bad luck to look an osprey in the eye. Bad things will happen, boats will flip, guests will swim, oars will snap and ice will melt.

    I don’t believe it. I’m starting a new guide tradition: Osprey are our guardians along with the river otters and great blue herons. They watch us, daring and playing with the river. They do it better, but they still look after us.

    Great poem, makes me miss the river even more!

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