The Heron

Amidst the clatter of kitchen noises
This morning, my gaze turned to the window,
I saw a heron at the water’s edge.
Her slender legs (or maybe his?)
Held aloft from the lake her torso, her head,
The graceful neck a backwards S
Crying to the half-light world
“See my beauty! Adore my form!”
And I obeyed.

Around her (again, I assume)
Floating in the nearby weed
The ducks sat, heedless.
No curtesy, no homage did they bring
To the sublime creature in their midst.
Were they unaware that they
Swam in the same hallowed waters
With royalty?
Did their drab attires, their squat necks
And legs barely worth the name
Make them turn their jealous bills away?

Or were the ducks simply unmoved
By the majestic presence
Of just another bird?