Bald Eagle Sonnet Poem by David Welch

He circles around this rustic boat launch,
the locals know he nests in the pine trees,
fish bone at the base tell of his last lunch,
these birds like water, big lakes and sea.
White heads draw the eye, even if far off,
it's clear why most men think them majestic,
he looks better still plunging for the waves,
into a trout yellow talons now rip.
Some folks snap photos from this rocky beach,
zoom in on fledglings with thin mottled heads,
they flap wings to fly, but it's still a reach,
so they just hop back to their nesting bed,
it will be some months before they're ready
to soar on the thermals, strong and steady.