I think of him
As a southern bird
But up here in summer
He is not of unheard

A great blue heron
Keeps visiting the shack
At the lakefront, of course
Not the woods in the back

At dawn and at dusk
He presides at the dock
Regal and majestic
Assessing fish-stock

A symbol of self-reliance
In myth and in lore
Herons are loners
That is for sure

Which means he’s a bird
Who knows me quite well
And maybe that’s why
I’ve been under his spell

And why at my lakefront
He’s become quite a fixture
But he’s camera shy
So I don’t have a picture

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