As the eagle soared
sharp eyes observed
life itself, as it moved
under cover of leaves,
between blades of grass
button eyes peeking
from freshly dug holes.
Such routine, yet it was,
in its own way, new each day.
And he enjoyed nothing more
than a descent at 300 k's,
the rush of high speed,
alert pupils, dried by wind,
talons, confidently stretched.
Yes, it was a pleasant existence,
so far above human dignity.
Well done! Another really nice poem. You obviously study Eagles! Sincerely Ernestine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful, I felt like I was the bird.