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Prey of the Day
by Bruce W Niedt
Screams in the yard grab my attention
I turn to see a sparrow, pinned to the ground
Under the talons of a small hawk.
It stands, glaring at me with one black eye,
While its victims cries trail off,
The vain writhing coming to an end.
It seems to measure the threat
As I creep closer, to get a better look
The razored beak, brown-gray plumage
All on alert.
Finally, I cross the line,
And it launches off, its prey
A bundle of feathers and meat in its claws.
It perches in my pine tree,
The tallest in the neighborhood,
A perfect vantage point for a predator.
I wont belabor the metaphor,
But when that sparrow woke this morning,
It didnt wonder if it would make it through the day
Without some calamity overtaking it.
It survived the best way it could,
More on instinct than forethought.
But were more alike than not.
We blithely enter the day, oblivious,
Even where hawks have descended before,
Till realitys sharp claws sink in.
11/27/2002 Posted on 11/27/2002
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by JD Clay on 11/29/02 at 03:49 AM Beautifully scripted Bruce. I especially like the way it crescendos steadily throughout ending with a dichotomous dose of WHAT IS! Peace... |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 01/09/03 at 05:34 PM Yes indeed, we leave our homes each morning with no idea as to whether we'll make it back that night. Worthy lesson here Bruce. |
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