Oh, eagle flying circles in the sky.
Searching for a meal to tempt your eye.
Below, on the Tarmac lying dead still.
It is the tasty morsel that meets the bill.
Straight as an arrow, down beside it you flop.
Ripping, tearing, denying others the tasting.
Enjoying the flavour of the still-warm flesh.
Crash a deadly hit, you spin and die.
There on the road, you now wait,
For others to come and appreciate.
The meal laid out before them.
My wish now, is that your spirit flies free.
© 2020 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen
Photo: Pixabay License
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