his feathers scaled the current back upwards gently,
the watcher was passively combative as he grinned,
this grin that shifted soundly as he chewed on a gummy worm softly,
his binoculars he held were fixed to his gloves,
stitched to the twine of a satin fragrance,
aromatic cliches invaded passages in vain,
blood pulsed though the maze,
courses plagued by patrons content with 18 holes,
the watcher's eyes were such a translucent blue,
that any bird with a brain could see right through this tune,
so he nestled back into his branch cradled home,
and whistled as if no one could hear.
