The Vulture's Illusion Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The Vulture's Illusion

Sun beats down, a world of sand,
A dark shape drifts, above the land.
Wings spread wide, a silent flight,
Sharp eyes search, with all their might.

A speck below, a still, dark shape,
The bird dips low, a planned escape.
Circles tight, the ground grows near,
A hungry hope, dispelling fear.

Then, a twitch, a sudden leap,
The 'dead' thing wakes, from slumber deep.
A flash of fur, it runs so fast,
Away from shadows, built to last.

The hunt was long, the night was deep,
The coyote woke, from weary sleep.
The vulture watches, circling still,
Another meal, another thrill.