I watched it playing in the air,
Dive-bombing, soaring without a care.
Thermal draughts beneath its wing
And all around a sense of spring.
A golden sun polished the sky,
Magpies warbled their own sweet cry,
The hawk picked up its torpedo pace
Then hovered, static, in one place.
A chase began in that morning sun,
‘Twas business now, no longer fun.
A survival battle ‘twixt birds in flight.
It’s Nature’s way – there is no “right.”
I watched it drop like a thunder bolt,
Then cruelly forced to a sudden halt.
As, impaled upon an unused pole,
It added to man’s destructive toll.
I watched the hawk this country morn
As from its breast its life was torn,
I saw the wild birds close around
Waiting with it, without a sound,
For its futile, fluttering, demise.
They mourned their fallen king of skies.
I watched it all on this warm, wondrous day
As they gathered and then flew away.
By Frances McKay
Copyright © – Frances MacKay 2000