Alone he shone in iridescent hue,
Of bright lapiz and peacock blue.
His high pitched shrill, distinct and loud,
Certainly brought in such a crowd.
The massive flock headed to the sky,
To keep together, to live or die.
Murmuration, synchronised, glide and swoon,
Gyrating forms on the September moon.
They sore to earth and strive to heaven,
Each bird observes it’s closest seven.
Grace and beauty in the single show,
Such wonder in their ebb and flow.