The hawk, flying aloft this cold morning,
was a ghosting blur on the frosty pane
of violet blues' crisping chilled sunrise.
It sliced to the roof of the backyard shed,
and cast shadow over grassed diamonds.
Perched, eyed movement, taloned early breakfast,
having found nothing the warm day before.
For all things small had burrowed, in knowing
the night would bring challenge, testing of life,
surely as dawn would, when hunger drove them
into the unfed field of the lone hawk.
Lifting into the sky, small eyes watched it,
peering from under the boards of the shed.
Shelter they would leave soon, ranging for food.
elysabeth faslund
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hawk-and-the-shed/
