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

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