Like a chorus of angels singing slightly off key
In the chilly morning it builds as the sun rises.
Some mystery passes from one to the next, silent.
Just how, who can say? Their bodies lift in unison.
There is nothing awkward about them.  Poetry!
I was quite unprepared for the glorious spectacle.
Thousands.  Like watching a ballet of slow wing beats.
7000 miles they follow their heritage of millenniums;
And they rest upon the banks of this river.