Sitka's Summer Birds

There is firm sure might in the eagle's flight,
A double curve in his wing.
Our spawning fish make a dainty dish
To set before the king.

How can life be dull for the herring gull,
The bay milk-green from spawn?
While the world still dreams, he feasts and screams
In summer's early dawn.

In a moss-made nest will the ouzel rest;
Dive deep or wade the foam,
While the current rips, he dines and dips;
A forest stream is home.

How the raven talks while he flies or stalks
Coal black along the beach.
His croaks and yodels in ravenish modals
Are untranslated speech.

The russet thrush breaks the evening hush
With the spiral song he sings.
In the early dawn with the short night gone
His rising music rings.