Ballad

I'm following suit and posting something that's not newly written. This probably only has appeal to desert lovers.

Song of the Desert Bard

In the frozen wastes of a western state

Starts an oft-repeated story

Of a singer who knows of life-long foes--

Every player, feathered or hoary.

And the tale begins when the southwest winds

Breathe a promise of days to come

When the snows are gone and the days are long

And the migrant stray flies home.

With a flash of wings the yellow bard sings

As a traveler flies the last leg

Of a journey from afar guided by a star

And the Great Horned settles on eggs.

In a land dispute an eagle stoops

On an interloping falcon

While in a bed of sticks three Raven chicks

In egg-shell blue are hidden

The lark with horns anxiously scorns

A base of tufted grass

‘Till the watcher’s glance moves by chance

The eggs are warm at last.

Then the chorus swells ‘neath the vernal spell

The Thrasher’s trill incites

A battle cry from a black bow tied

Defending sparrow sprite.

A wary hare without a prayer

Of moving undetected

Defies the gods and beats the odds

For a nip of morning nectar.

The queen of the air watches with care

A pure white ball of down

Soaring high with piercing eye

She patrols the distant ground.

The season turns as thunderheads churn

The heavens into butter

The Claret blossom turns deep plum

And the ground owl takes a lover.

Crop circles form ‘round a ravaging swarm

Of hymenopteran farmers

A formic feast for a horny beast

Deliberately scaled and armored.

A thorny spike to a hoarding shrike

Is a Big Sage Frigidaire

And the cicada’s drone of raspy tone

Marks a viper’s lair.

The summer moon, a helium balloon

Seems tethered by a feather-light rock

A scorpion tail fluorescent pale

Lies on the butcher block.

Spinning in his skin with a hissing grin

The badger turns the battle

Now wary feet beat a wise retreat

To the Storyteller's tattle.

Lupine orbs form curling cords

A gift for a Painted Lady.
The Indian grass parts to pass

A gangling Curlew baby.

The days are long and the heady song

Of the storyteller croons

To a Black-tailed jack kicking back

To beat the heat of June.

The season’s done as one by one

Grown-up wings take flight

The horizon fades through crimson shades

That wink and turn to night.