A screech of pain and desperation,
Sounds harsh upon my ear.
I look up from reading, wide-eyed
My spine a-trickle with fear.
The sun is slanting as it sets,
The cicadas are filling the air.
The smell of late summer and
Clover are wafting everywhere.
Up from my book, to investigate,
The hound wanting to go.
So, we embark on a journey,
Wondering what it will show.
As we begin, a raptor flies
From a locust, tall and spare,
To the maple by the back porch.
“What is he wanting there?”
I do not begrudge a hawk his meal,
The Lord provides for all.
Including a beautiful, noble bird
Made blood-thirsty by the fall.
Once we are spotted, the hawk returns,
To the perch he had left before.
We hear another startling screech,
But then there is no more.
I wasn’t permitted to know the story,
The tale of a sound so haunting.
There was none there, who knew to tell
Of that scream so fearfully daunting.
Was it the bird or his victim?
It was difficult to tell.
Though the sound is fading, I know,
A hawk’s victory is a prey’s hell.
Copyright 2020 Virginia C. McCoy
(I don’t want to insult anyone’s intelligence, knowing yours is probably far greater than mine, but to read the following limerick correctly, you must pronounce “distress” the same as “mistress”. Just sayin’… LOL!)
There once was a doggy so furry,
Who flew down the stairs in a hurry.
He knocked down his mistress,
And caused a great distress,
In addition to quite a little fury.
— Virginia C. McCoy
(No-one was actually hurt in the creation of this poem. So far, said furry doggy has not knocked the mistress, or master, down the stairs.)