A single hawk flies cold above the flowers,
Momentum quickly focused by the hour.
The mood requires warm bones against the frost,
Before the pattern is forever lost.
The shadow of pure flight hallows the ground,
Song fitly joined together without sound.
Veering is elegant against the pane.
Friend, time turns west upon that sunset plane.
Your poem flows like those out-stretched wings veering majectically.
Sandra's eyes are like a camera that catches vivid picture of what she observes from the sky or on the earth. Another flash back of a single hawk and its background in the form of word-picture-poem to Sandra's credit.
Captures well the urgency and beauty of the hawk hunting, against the more abstract passing of time beneath it. Patrick
Only this morning, walking my dog, I watched as a lone bird swooped and soared, shadow below and blue sky above. This poem is a wonderful piece of observation, a moment captured in time's passing light. Justine
sandraji, that hawk is nothing but your soul... and the flight, i love to call it: poetry..........
a visual treat to the mind...trying to recreate the scenery through your fine poem...a treat
Your words pure magic as they capture the lone flight of the hawk and drops a poem into your hands..thank you Sandra - the hawk, my favourite
You capture the solitary nature of your hawk with skill and grace in this majestic poem about the passing of time and the beauty of the seasons. I also pick up an emotional sub plot of regret and sweet sadness. Masterful poetry. love, Allie xxxx
Many moods and images are captured here - so many poets have praised this work, I merely wish to echo their thoughts. 'Warm bones against the frost' is what the spirit requires, always - the sun always westers, forever. - Will
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is something sacramental in the quiet graceful flight of a hawk. You have captured it with elegance and grace. Robert