She sweeps out of the sparkling splashes,
Silver in the pale early light, with stealthy
Stabs into the satin cover of the lake.

Shaking herself, she steadies on her long stilt legs
And flaps strong wet wings that take her into the air
With astonishing grace as she seeks out another sphere,
Soaring into the distant cloud of rain.

Maybe she flies all the way back to the Nile
Where graceful river boats float softly on the foam
Of ancient times when the sun burned red
And the world was still wonderful and new.