Night Hawk searching the sky for prey.
Mother Hawk has new borns to feed.
Here comes a flying tidbit, GET IT!
Talons rip into unsuspecting flesh.
Gripping the fresh carcass in her talons,
she has what she had been looking for.
Babies can be fed, pieces of flesh,
bit by bit, so they can grow strong,
and carry on their heritage.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem