The Peregrine Falcon – A Poem

As flecks of grey against weathered crags,
The pigeon flock glides over foamy sands,
They graze the gaunt, sallow faces of cliffs,
Contoured by eternal moss, untouched by sage hands.
 
The picture of patience, with mercy of man,
From heaven above, the peregrine falcon judges,
Determined, the avian magistrate strikes her gavel,
And so mortal fates are decided; no being grudges.
 
Hayabusa peels away from the clouds,
Guided by instincts, honed and refined,
With streamline speed and precise dexterity,
Prey and gunsights, perfectly aligned.
 
Death; the pigeon's ruffled feathers gently fall,
And sink like warships along the turbid coast,
The falcon feasts on her hard earned prey,
And the falcon's pride, a thing to boast.