Where did they go,
birds beneath these eaves?
ignore me please.
Thinking not of pane and screen,
mother and her nestlings above,
below the gutter's edge.
Delight to peer, to investigate,
my stealthy curious stare.
I stretch my neck in eagerness,
if only they would enter in.
Common birds no doubt,
affixed out there, as a wildcat...
come within my lair.
Yearning of jungle, plain, woodland...
I dream of what I've been,
a lion, puma, tiger, an ocelot,
where hunting is no sin.
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York.