The quail can always find a home

‘neath bush and tree and garden gnome.

Their pencil legs a meager stand

are still enough to ‘scape my hand.

They jut and dart and squirt around

like wing-ed hamsters, rarely found,

and when the time has come to dine

they squiggle cross my lawn to find

a twig, a bud, a worm or two

to feed their quail-ettes like they do.

They never come just two or three

but dozens, quite the sight to see.

These paragons of Spring time flare

though awkward, still they, willing, dare

to squat inside my arbor bush

until their next big dinner rush.

 

Picture: www.mommaneedsabeer.blogspot.com