Birds he watches with few words.
He walks the country side
in silent stride, looking up in teaks,
in the grasses, glades and palms he peeks,
wishing to touch the gull that's fishing
or slender albatross that glides
and effortlessly rides the rough gales;
to kiss a swift's shoulder as it dives in the dales.
Love the birdwatcher to stroke a dove
on her nape or nose; to rest
his head on robin's breast and find
perverse pleasure in hearing a swan whine.
Flush his ruddy cheeks by thrush's
merry song and excite him without fail
the curlew's feathered tail; he'll lick his lips
rise and quake at sight of swallow's hips
and shake and touch himself by hand
and right away wriggle and sway
when wrens may call he'll like
to grab them all and peppershrike.