The eagle
I saw the eagle turn in air space
on radial winds
like a kite it hanged there,
a dot high above in the blue,
a thing clenching to the heights
that knows to where those winds blow
time and again turning on its circling course.
Almost effortless with equilibrium
it is a master of the air,
until it dives like a thunderbolt
and in swiftness
exposes its claws downwards
descending deadly, in a moment,
right on target.
poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
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