by Wesley D. Sims
Buzzards congregate at dusk,
blitz a large oak tree to roost
like a bagful of black clothespins.
Morning draws them out
to perch on fence posts
around a near pasture like a village
of totems, wings spread wide
as if some mysterious ritual.
The sunshine chases away
mites that plague them.
2 comments:
Another beautiful and thoughtful poem by Wesley Sims! I've never seen a Vulture, but I fell like I have after reading this poem. I particularly liked his use of simile here.
"Bagful of black clothespin" - a simile worthy of P.G. Wodehouse - a high compliment.
I once saw about 20 vultures with their wingspread in the morning son. At first glance I took them for a small solar farm.
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