Wonder

I hear a lone cicada sing
as frantic mother finch takes wing
to lure me from her nested brood
that all too soon will learn to fling
their fragile forms beyond the press
of gravity’s insistent stress.

A sly one lopes across the trail
uncertain which one to inhale,
my rude intrusion causes him
to tuck his white-tipped rusty tail
between his legs then slink away
in search of less demanding prey.

The daisies wave as I ride by
while cotton clouds traverse a sky
so blue it’s hard to comprehend
the endless void through which we fly;
a lark the sighted must amend
when glowing gems of night descend.