Poetry

Hawk (#38)

There perched upon a granite rock,
A hawk spreads its wings wide,
Gradually eyeing its prey with precision,
His talons primordially release the rock,
His wings heavily lift this angel of death,
Up and through as he glides the dewy morn,
The hawk screams “Sa-har! Sa-har!”
The knife cutting the air, his wings,
Smoking across the bluish sky,
His eyes never leaving his prey,
The coming kill runs through his blood,
He dives, in what seems like a freefall, and then impact!
He lifts high into the air, prey firmly in his talons,
The hawk.

Any Thoughts?

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