Jesters of Sound, a poem from, Poetry Volume One, by Rose Mary Johnson, U.S. Copyright
Creeping into a lazy afternoon.
Wind whipping the trees like a tune.
Bobby's strutting in a field across the street.
Faye and June are bobbing in the tree tops keeping the beat.
Near the park bench there's a lonely sandwich.
Jimmy swoops down without a hitch.
Never leave any leftover bread,
nearby cawing loudly says Fred.
We are the jesters of sound.
Cawing to our flock all around.
A little misunderstood.
We're trying to survive in the neighborhood.
Mr. Pester lives down the street.
All fallen snacks are his for keep.
Elder bird without much a word.
They'll wait their turn - those younger birds.
Do you know what it's like?
Live our strife.
The attitude's stiff, so don't push us around.
Those just like us will follow you down.
We're a part of this flock and feathers.
No matter if it’s sunny or stormy weather.
Together we glide through the sky.
That's how we fly.
Sometimes the hawk can be in our way.
Could your identity be its prey?
Every one of us has a hawk.
Deep within our fear it stalks.
Don't judge me by my color.
We're more alike than differ hey sister, brother.
My black feathers have beauty just like Jay.
No matter our path, we all have our own way.
We are the jesters of sound.
Cawing to our flock all around.
A little misunderstood.
We're trying to survive in the neighborhood.