Be it Africa’s salt pans or the Asian shore
Flamingos paint waters in a rose-hued lore
Neck akin to a question, legs erect and tall
They stand like effigy at an aristocratic ball.
With plumage dyed by the brine they keep
Fascinated humans find beauty in the deep
Like vagabonds colonizing a promised land
Like a blushing horde on the chromite sand.
Flamingos filter the silt with scythe-like bill
As humans glean wisdom with a quiet will
In a mirrored rhythm, they bow and preen
Like lovers’ antics, it renders quite a scene.
They so often walk the waters side by side
Akin to the bustling streets of a city on fire
Wild and loud, it looks like a honking choir
Stand graceful, resembling one lean legger.
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