They Fly
Under the radar.
Watching their flight, into the night,
They wing and weave in time,
They circle, dip, duck, and flip,
Their flight is a beautiful rhyme.
Birds I have heard are dancing,
Poised for a pirouette,
In the blue sky, way up on high,
In an unparalleled silhouette.
I watch them from my window,
And follow them when I walk,
In smooth symmetry sliding,
A sparrow pursued by a Hawk.
An eagle perched then perusing,
It’s prey with eyes on high,
Adept as she falls from the heavens,
With a whoosh, screech, and a cry
They fly under the radar,
In for the kill in a flash,
Known for finesse when flying,
The sea eagle’s sign is their splash.
And then in a flock and symmetrical block,
They wing as the seasons change,
Off to another land and
Home, home, home on the range.
Adept at true understanding,
The seasons the weather and time,
The optimum time for hunting,
Bound by an invisible sign.
And when they fly, they call and cry,
And align in a sign of formation,
No one knows, but they,
Of their destination.
I stand in awe as they soar
And wing past the waves in my mind
And know that the beauty I saw
Is the awe in my mind I find.
©
David Rudder
2023
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