The Dabbler

He dabs and bows his head, a dapper chap

who cheeps about each day to twit and feed.

He flaunts, and hops and leaves without a map.

Some weeks it seems he left or took a nap.

But soon as hope he pops around for seed,

and dabs and bows his head: a dapper chap.

He tweaks and twitches: life must be a snap

to birds that flee their problems with their speed.

He flaunts, and hops, and leaves without a map.

But who can know the dangers that would trap

a bird who quests in sky-ing realms at need,

what stabs and blows what dread, this dapper chap?

We see the edges, missing all the gap,

our knowledge barren, empty as the trees

he flaunts and hops and leaves without a map.

Enigma bright, enlivened nature’s cap

to simple beauty: elegance we read.

He dabs, and bows his head, a dapper chap,

then flaunts, and stately, leaves without a map.

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