The hawk
in silent majesty soars
in moments
of simplicity
as the snowman
slumps
near sidewalks
trampled by dirt
while last
week’s slick ice
apologizes its long
departure
but the willows
stop weeping
as all day
and all night
the
sky works
to bring this
morning’s marvel
of new hope.
Fun poetry Deb. Your weather is our hope. A high wind blizzard here. I always wondered how much the hawks hunker down in a blizzard. All wildlife (except chickadees and woodpeckers) disappears into hollow trees, thick evergreens and snowbanks in times like this.
The Hawk knows simplicity, for sure. He’s either soaring or sitting somewhere. The trick is to find the right balance between the two. Humans can learn much from our raptor friends. Great poem.
Gary, the little song sparrows and a pair of morning doves are our most faithful in the worst of the weather. This morning there was the prettiest little red bird. I have no idea what it was but it seemed to be as interested in me as I was in it. We really do need to get a bird book…I’m not even sure the little brown guys are sparrows. 😁💛
David, your comment is a great poem!
It’s wonderful what we see when we look up!
Jon, yes indeed! 💙