The Sparrowhawk
Wings fluttering in the morning light,
the screeching of a sparrowhawk,
above the river mist, above chill water.
Its quarry, a duck quacking as it veers away
from grasping talons and sudden death.
The single instance of screeching and quacking,
then the silence of a thwarted kill,
the duck rapidly descending into the mist,
into the safety at the water's edge,
the hawk soaring up into the rising sun,
disappearing into blinding light,
the calm, stillness of morning returning.
Wings fluttering in the morning light,
the screeching of a sparrowhawk,
above the river mist, above chill water.
Its quarry, a duck quacking as it veers away
from grasping talons and sudden death.
The single instance of screeching and quacking,
then the silence of a thwarted kill,
the duck rapidly descending into the mist,
into the safety at the water's edge,
the hawk soaring up into the rising sun,
disappearing into blinding light,
the calm, stillness of morning returning.
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