Painted Eagles Poem by Alexander Beebe

The sun doth rise while morning dew clings to blades of grass,
the tarmac full of painted eagles waiting for their pass.
Like birds of prey on the wire eager to devour,
the sky their highway between the earth and the heaven’s power.

The vapor trails their fleeting sign that once they passed this way,
to yonder sights of things below that gaze upon their wings.
The clouds appear as mountaintops or foam on raging seas,
horizons that appear so close continue to deceive.

The breath of God holds their wings, the sun upon their back,
the earth’s angelic quilt, the roads the threads that bind.
When walking earth’s complexion, the beauty do we see,
but through the eyes of eagles you see God’s tapestry.