|
| cry for the hawk | ||
| Don't cry for the hawk, | and to look at her life I should realize | |
| the sky's daughter; | she knows her world | |
| beloved of the wind, | much like a hawk knows to fly... | |
| she's at home in the place | . | |
| she was born for, | . | |
| the life that she knows, | ||
| there's no other. | . | |
| Don't cry for the hawk | ||
| you could never see | ||
| her world through your eyes; | ||
| She soars ever-watchful | ||
| tenaciously clinging | ||
| to heights she has clawed | ||
| on her own, and each day | ||
| she will give it her strength, | ||
| her reason for being. | ||
| You watch her and dream | ||
| of possession, encounter -- | ||
| a sign of her having seen; | ||
| brushed by sky, | ||
| her colors of silence, | ||
| watchfulness, solitude. | ||
| Don't cry for the hawk | ||
| she knows she's bounded | ||
| by time and by circumstance | ||
| much more than you -- | ||
| feeling the passage of seasons, | ||
| each new day giving | ||
| herself to the sky. | ||
| Will she know | ||
| the last time she'll ascend, | ||
| will tomorrow | ||
| still bring her the heights | ||
| she's achieved in her prime, | ||
| will the wind hold her gently | ||
| her world forgive her | ||
| for weakness, | ||
| for mornings seen weary, | ||
| for prey she'd forsake | ||
| and taking for granted | ||
| those lonely spirals descending, | ||
| her strength her salvation -- | ||
| She can't soar so slow | ||
| as to see you crying for her. | ||
| © Jon Bohrn (1999) | ||
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