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The Hawk

By John I. Blair

High in the air the hawk circles,
Full of grace to behold,
Yet also full of death
For some small animal it will find.

Blinded by the brilliant light,
I can barely stand to look.

No matter if I see it; it is there,
Waiting patiently,
Just at the boundary of my sight.

The beauty part is obvious,
And so is the thought
Of why the hawk is there.

Somehow within my mind
The two thoughts do not fight.

John I. Blair, 11/24/2001

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