Mead Gardens, Saturdays, the girls and I
Will trek around the stream-side nature trail
And watch bird-watchers, aiming toward the sky
Their long-lensed cameras, spot a yellow tail
Or speckled back or other telling trait
Of novel fowls on their migration routes
And over-hear their spirited debate
Trying to note the varied tweets and hoots.
Meanwhile my dogs are sniffing at the ground
For evidence of rabbits or raccoons,
Which for their searching they have never found,
Though they’ve been tracking now for many moons,
And I’m the watcher watching everyone—
Seeing their kinds of finding is my fun.