Crambo, Rambo, an inferior rhyme — Societal stumbling “on a dime.” Red-tail Hawk soaring on a warm updraft; Meditation is a delicate craft. A Mockingbird’s flying’s a whistling jaunt. Sometimes landing’s an unbalanced taunt. Tough Tabby walking the plank [porch] worn ramp; Sure-footed sailor, an elegant “tramp.” Talking is crambo if done all alone; Nature, my wistful sing-a-long, seeds sown.
When children spin the Dreidel like a top, Does chance and spirit blend like a heartthrob? A daft squirrel bounces a nut on a branch; Instinctively prays for no avalanche. My cat chasing a ball “creates” much joy. How would he do, with a four-sided toy? Turning her eggs over [talons] to glance — Mother Bird playing Nature’s game of chance. White seagulls cruise the parking lots for food; Catching wind-swept crumbs hones an impish mood.
His crazy flying’s a gay toodle-oo; The mockingbird is a book “way past due.” A dog that is constantly wagging its tail, Is a yea-sayer and that’s no folktale. A white feather lies in my garden bed. Was this handsel from a bird I once fed? Fallal, a pretty necklace at the throat — Male pigeon thrusting his chest, “wooing boast.” The tough cat emerged from the willowwacks; Calisthenics, then, a fitting climax