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.
1 comment:
Nice! A few weeks ago when we were at horseback riding lessons, we were grooming our horses when I saw a hawk swoop down and attempt to carry off a chicken. Apparently the chicken was too heavy or hard to pick up; the hawk dropped it and left empty-taloned. But all the chickens hastily adjourned to the barn! The attempted chicken-napping happened just feet away from Noah and his horse.
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