You’ll see her hover and judge the wind,
Perfectly balanced with prey now pinned.
Only when time and gust is truly right,
Does she soar, crash, grapple and fight.
Her blazes of orange, gold and grey,
Dazzles not just watcher but startled prey.
Now tight within her daggered clutch,
Her speckled wings open and flounder much.
Pulling up and steering high,
Back amongst her realm, the watchful sky.
by Angus D. Birditt