Day 114.

Poetic Grey Gun. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full. Hours of sleep: three. Lice: zero; visits to Grey Gun: two.

I just can’t help myself. Not seeing him yesterday only made it worse, I kept thinking about him all day. At night I was restless and couldn’t sleep until the wee small hours in the morning. Then I had this most amazing dream. Grey Gun and I were galloping and flapping down the beach and chasing each other over the sand dunes. And in the dunes... Oh my feathers, I can’t even begin to write about that! Anyway, the dream was so vivid that I actually fell off the perch! I decided that since I was up and now very much awake I would quietly wander over to see him. He didn’t know I was there – I just kept quiet and watched him eat... and his rippling muscles... and his gently flowing mane. It inspired me to write this poem:

A Poem about Grey Gun by Ruby
Grey Gun runs like the wind
Muscles rippling
Sweat dripping.

Grey Gun stands in the sun
Ears pricked
Mane whipped.

Grey Gun grazes the sweet grass
Incisors munching
Molars crunching.

Grey Gun sleeps in the night
And dreams...
of Ruby.


Phew, great poetry is such heart-pumping stuff!