A lone pelican coasting the sea
Stalks slowly, maintaining speed
Sees a tiny snack only yards down
And pounces momentarily around

Readjusting steadily, striking its bite
Missed or eaten, it resumes flight
Now, I notice, it’s part of a fleet
Strategizing loosely to retreat

Hold on; this just in: they begin
Scoping new hunting ground again
Heading away from shore, it seems
There’s booty to be had as a means:

Gulping & filling up on fish
Turtles, crustaceans, or insects

These poor divers grow blind
Of salt water or having the spine
To hunt; they hunt no more, it’s sad
Not able to see, their stomachs go mad

Yet forever they stand among their kin
Well known, enthroned deep within
Primordial creatures with a grace
To us mysterious, when we face