The peacock’s burden is also his prize:
His colorful spread, a riot of hue.
Although its beauty may dazzle your eyes,
It’s behind him -- he can’t admire the view!
His mighty display is for others' gaze,
To intimidate or attract someone;
The best he can hope for is loving praise,
Or putting an enemy on the run.
I wonder, at night when he tries to sleep,
Does his tail get wrinkled, or worse get bent?
Can he get it cleaned and pressed really cheap?
Are there bright extensions that he can rent?
Something so feathery, flimsy, and frail,
Must have him telling a whale of a tale.
Mick McKellar
May 2015
All the snow has me thinking of color, I guess.
Mick
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