Dive To Death Poem by chris dawson

Spontaneous explosion of delicate flights;
the downy feathers meander
randomly as they gently fall
about the lightening cleaved stump,
silently leaving the scene of impact.
The cloud rapidly disperses.
Their source now lay limp and lifeless,
talon slashed,
amongst the stubble of freshly trimmed nettles.
Neck broken, the Dove was truly collared.
Above it, indifferent to it’s power,
a Sparrowhawk,
still warm death lies before it.
Eager, chilling eye surveys
returning to its victim,
setting about it with customary function.
Instinct lurches,
destruction to protection.
These most base and converse forces infuse a killer.