On Seeing Sanderlings At Powlett River

From the Artic of Siberia thousands of miles away A local fellow told me that they arrived yesterday To the beach at Powlett river a quiet estuary Where fresh water off of the high ground joins the salt water of the sea. A flock of sanderlings from the north lands from their travels they seemed tired Little coastal World travellers that poets and artists have inspired To write poems about and to sketch their image their tiny wings had brought them far From the cold north of the Northlands where white bear and walrus are. There's a mystery about them that scientists can't seem to explain How they find their way so far south and find their way back home again Is it Mother Nature who guides them birds have such a tiny brain? And the mystery about them as a mystery will remain. They were born to be World travellers and they travel till they die Twice a year during migration thousands of miles of coast they fly From the Artic down by coastal Asia to the Southern Hemisphere And back home to their breeding grounds to the Northern Spring each year. On the quiet beach at Powlett on a sunny Winter's day Little travellers of the World from the Northlands far away Tired from their long coastal journey resting by the estuary Where the waters of the Powlett joins the great Pacific sea.