He Knows What I Don't - a poem

I patiently wait

for the brilliant blue bird

to return to my garden.

I only want to see

his lovely colors,

his graceful flight.

But he perches high in the trees,

protected in the leaves

from all watching eyes.

He is on alert

to every lurking threat,

careful not to reveal himself

until he is sure.

I only want to enjoy his beauty,

But he knows what I don't.

The hawk and the owl

don't care what color he is.