Poem Of The Month - January 2018

Photo credit: Pixabay

The Stoop

Above my head a peregrine floats high

Scanning the space between the cliffs and sea

A motionless cut-out in the sky

I am nothing, she does not care for me.

She patrols this narrow space, this littoral

Casting her pilgrim shadow as she flies

Dream soaring, yet awake, she does not fall

Or stoop until the need, or when she spies

The warm bundle of blood and flesh and fur

She will target, a diving arrow stone;

I look up again and find she’s not there,

Her brief time in this place has come and gone.

I’m left in this domain, in the between,

The borderlands of which she‘s queen.

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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