Magic Box Poem by Francie Lynch
Magic Box
The eagles may pass the snowbirds,
In the air, on the land and sea;
Like the flight of the featherless Wild Geese
In a similar century.
The coops are open,
The hawk is swooping,
Talons sharp and spread;
Eyes laser fixed, and firey red.
They're locked
On preening pigeons,
Perched near the magic box.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: birds,eagles,election
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5/6/2024 12:26:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
