Poem: King of the lake

I mourn a friend,
I did not know.
A minor wound
I pick at still.
The regal grey heron,
Lord of his domain.
Almost daily encounters,
Thrilled my soul.
A long sharp beak,
His golden sword.
Black tasseled brows,
His noble crown.
Thin draping feathers,
His silver finery.
Tussled reed and sedge,
His hidden throne.
Fish-filled rhines,
His dining hall.
His stillness made,
Statues of himself.
I was his loyal subject,
Amongst few others.
Ignorant voices cried,
“Look at that rare bird!”
Intrigued children gasped,
“It’s not moving, is it real?”
Many subjects like me,
Just watched,
respectfully.
If we got too close,
He launched
Into the air.
Heron flight always
Astounds me.
The tucked in head,
Giant black tipped wings.
Followed by elongated
Stilt legs.
A special memory of
this regal grey heron.
Soaring above me
And the rhines
He owned.
A primal dinosaur screech,
That echoed in my bones.
Brutal tooth and claw,
Ended him.
They say dog or fox,
Before his time.
Goodbye your grace,
I miss you on my walks.
King of this lake,
You rightly were.
A friend to me,
In dark times,
You’ll always be.