Looking breathless to the sky, I see a high trapeze,
for cockatoos are clownish acrobats.
Upon a summer’s breeze, they swing with practiced ease,
alighting just to raise their yellow hats.
Death defying in their flying, their act electrifying,
they begin to sing a raucous lullaby.
It’s too much for my mother when they start to sing another,
and she turns to kiss her friend a quick goodbye.
Then, as we pull away, with a backward glance I say,
“I’ll never see a circus act as good as yours today!”