by Raymond Bob Tucker
Intricate picking of debris
Arranged after many flights back and forth
A nest finally.
Up before sun
Slithering creature moving as waves
Got my beak wet!
Wings comb through wind
Blue skies are my playground
A cloud’s view.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raymond “Bob” Tucker grew up in Philadelphia, grasping at characteristics which he once thought were essential for survival. Through trial and error, a man developed—a man who gravitates to writing as a form of true expression and therapy.