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Two bird poems which caught my attention

Whilst researching for Forest Church I came across these two poems which are appropriate for this site.

The Jackdaw

There is a bird who, by his coat 
And by the hoarseness of his note, 
Might be supposed a crow; 
A great frequenter of the church, 
Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch, 
And dormitory too. 
 
Above the steeple shines a plate, 
That turns and turns, to indicate 
From what point blows the weather. 
Look up — your brains begin to swim, 
‘Tis in the clouds — that pleases him,  He chooses it the rather.

Fond of the speculative height, 
Thither he wings his airy flight, 
And thence securely sees 
The bustle and the rareeshow**,  That occupy mankind below, 
Secure and at his ease. 
 
You think, no doubt, he sits and muses 
On future broken bones and bruises, 
If he should chance to fall. 
No; not a single thought like that 
Employs his philosophic pate, 
Or troubles it at all. 
 
He sees that this great roundabout, 
The world, with all its motley rout, 
Church, army, physic, law, 
Its customs and its businesses, 
Is no concern at all of his, 
And says — what says he? — Caw. 
 
Thrice happy bird! I too have seen 
Much of the vanities of men; 
And, sick of having seen ’em, 
Would cheerfully these limbs resign 
For such a pair of wings as thine 
And such a head between ’em. 

(** a form of entertainment, especially one carried in a box, such as a peep show). 

William Cowper (1731 – 1800) | Cowper & Newton Museum 

The Creator Praises Birds

Vent and crissum,
lores and crest and comb: I
made them all—the
nares, nape, those
horny bill plates—I in
feathered trochees
made them: peacock,
sparrow, tufted titmouse,
flitting jenny
filled with joy of
beaking worm, of strut and
glide, of piping
double on their
syrinx. Praise how flock and
murmuration
call out warning,
call to fly or roost or
call for pleasure:
See me! Hear me!
Pur-ty! Pur-ty! Pur-ty!
Cheer up! Pibbity!

Praise the brave-heart
tender fledgling, wobbly
winging over
houses, over
pavement, risking all to
climb the air by
beating wind I
too created, rising
heavenward in joy.

—J. S. Absher 

This poem won first place in the 2018 Clinton F.  Larson Poetry Contest sponsored by BYU Studies 

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