WISP OF DEATH
Hovering in the
air.
With piercing eyes
focusing
On those at whom
you stare.
The roar and din of
traffic,
The only constant,
rumbling sound,
As with a swoop to
terminal velocity,
You fall upon the
ground.
The vole scurrying
about,
Was oblivious in
the grassy verge,
The crash of
talons, a wisp of death,
His baleful,
funeral dirge.
Oh beautiful
kestrel,
Speckled chest and
angled wings enrapture
Princely hooked
beak adorns you,
My regal, lethal
raptor.
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