A hunter, perched on a tree,
Waits, gazes, 'til water ripples.
Now! A chance!
See the kingfisher dive!
He cuts through the air
As old, mighty lance,
To catch in his beak,
Some unlucky fish.
Nature's winged harpoon,
Sports a coat ever-blue,
But in flight you may catch,
His proud orange chest,
Or, in a moment of grace,
His Maker's care.