On the sixth day of Christmas,
my true love gave to me
a hawk in the dogwood tree.
My camera was nestled
all firm in it's bag,
without a memory card
and the batteries all dead.
I'm mixing my Christmas songs
and poems,
but you get the picture.
After a brief scramble,
I found the hawk quite patient to my hurried preparations,
willing to wait for me to get my act together
so I could take pictures to my heart's content.
And then the hawk turned and launched
to fly away.
Fly away indeed, friend hawk.
Don't eat my chickens.
