I heard the reed-cloaked Bittern boom
In rolling mists one afternoon,
As camouflaged amidst the gloom,
He stayed to hunt his prey.

Motionless and sure of foot,
Aside the marsh a cut bank brook,
With steely eyes at rooted nooks,
He watched the eels in play.

Swiftly thrusting daggered bill,
To spear a fish that writhed until
Trom stab and twist inflicted, still
Its lifeless body lay.

How rare the sound, a Bittern boom,
So pleased was I that afternoon,
To see him feed amidst the gloom,
Where reed and rushes sway.

This poem was written by Peter Hoskins after seeing a bittern feeding at Cley Marshes in North Norfolk, UK, a reserve managed by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust.