A Peregrine Falcon in Flight
 

He flieth on the wynd, this byrd of prey.
How gentle he looks, far above.
Think you he but searcheth for food?
Guarding...

His eyes pierce the void to the ground
like a sharp knife.
He soareth on the uplifting currents, effortlessly,
Watching...

With senses far greater than thine
he rideth the wynd,
eyes fixed below,
Hovering...

When dusk settles over the land
and light doth fade,
Only then doth he roost, nearby,
Resting...

With morning's light
he doth mount the waves of wynd once again.
See thee him There,
high above
guarding, watching, hovering
Ceaselessly.

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