Piercing gray and spray,
A falcon, with a rabbit in his tallons,
Flies low past the open flood gates,
Then grazes the churning water
Above the turbines,
And makes it to the other side of the river
In good time,
Before the sky opens up.
Then sits poker faced in a tree
While lightning flashes around him.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An intriguing descriptive piece Francis.