Wild Turkeys

At the edge of the cemetery,
to the left of the entrance way,
a flock of wild turkeys, thin and black,
stroll through oft trimmed grass.

They pick and bob along
as if plucking deep, silent notes
within some great, reverent music box
hidden from our view.

And, of a sudden, a young boy,
unfolds with waving arms,
running across the lawn.
His laughing canter disturbs their gait.

The turkeys scurry like ostriches might,
some in panicked flight,
for the safety of the unkempt woods,
and the boy returns to from whence he came.