The Pondering Bird at the Pond

Sitting on the table after it flew down, pondering the world around, orange beak, black crown.

Food down below, so it flew down, the world below it, flat stone, square, not round.

Pondering what it saw, not food, empty claw, a pond nearby to wet its feathers, clean, dry.

Dry now, not wet, pondering what it saw in a net, a fish for its belly, a caw, sunset.

Back on the table where it all began, it looked forward, ahead, a new day, no plan.

For what next at the pond? As it pondered ahead. Orange beak, black crown, as the sun slowly set.