The warm sweet smell of honeysuckle
wafts through the dawn mist,
tempting birds and butterflies alike.
A soft breeze dodges through tall grass,
making each bow in reverence
to her gentle touch of friendliness.
The atmosphere is alive with the sound
of the many creatures of the pond,
all speaking with the touch of morning.
A light-colored bird flirts with her mate,
a frog croaks a welcome to a friend,
a fish jumps, taking the life of an unsuspecting fly.
The pond is alive with the reflection
of the sun’s majesty burning
away the early mist.
A flight of wild ducks
circles the glowing pond
in their colorful array.
As their descent increases toward
the flaming pond a blast is heard,
and then several more deafening sounds fill the air.
Feathers fill the once virgin sky;
and the pond, alive with the burning
brilliance of the sun, is now tainted
with the smell and taste of death.