HAWKS IN FLIGHT
Suspended on a cry the hawks have set A ripple of flawless curves upon the sky Where smaller birds are tangled in terror's net.
And far below, in the uneasy meadow, Earth's furtive creatures crouch in the long grass, Clinging tenaciously to folds of shadow.
Pattern of peril that comes to chill the sun: The suave approach and the uncanny hover, Disaster sudden as a falling stone.
Only the stream in search of a sure ocean Has found a fitting answer to the menace,
Watching in stony silence every motion.
WILFRED H. BARTLETT.