A thought hopped up onto the fence
and, watchfully, dared the question,
then sailed in an almost graceful glide
to beach on firm grass, unfurling
the black canvas of his wings.
His beak cracked open, showed a tongue
wordless, but could stitch a song;
one eye keeked, half-shuttered,
for the neighbour cat -
enough of fact to wreck a thought.
If you've any comments about this poem, Alastair Philipson would be pleased to hear from you.