True to form and almost on schedule,
the buzzards came in to do their general,
clean up work as has been defined,
In the grand scheme of things, nothing left behind,
Mother Natures clean up crew,
know what it is that they must do,
for it is their luck that for this they are chosen,
while for other the more glamorous position.
But of one thing they can be sure in this world,
everything dies, just as life is unfurled,
plenty to eat with each passing death,
of the animal kind which is usually their mind,
but a fish is still food and for them if they find
it replaces the taste of the animal kind.
Who would think that these birds in the sky,
soaring on windlifts and floating on high,
floating without effort it seems,
are really there as a part of the dreams,
of Mother Nature, who in all her ways,
chose buzzards, as her cleaning crew for the day.
What little is left of my beautiful fish,
will be food for animals and insects who wish,
that feel like eating what remains this day,
until all is gone, as is Nature’s way.
Apologies to the Black Vulture, or Buzzard as it is commonly known.