The great egret nests in a colony,
In woods not far from a river or pond.
They build thin platforms of sticks, twigs and reeds,
With a distant view like a balcony.
Not many fowl embrace this kind of bond,
Though crows return each night to rookeries.
The egret stands in water still as stone
For hours waiting for a fish or frog
They eat wriggling with a rapier bill.
Patience is the most precious skill they own.
A black mink will leap from behind a log,
Attack, cracking its legs enough to kill.
It’s then like ripping apart a child’s kite —
Broken sticks, torn paper red-spattered white.
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