Thoughts Have Hands

Soft downy wings

             feather the wind 

                          spread wide and strong 

             circle in silence.

Shrewd eyes peruse the ground 

                  Study fields of grass.

 Sails a breathless breeze,

            descends

                     with nimble purpose. 

                                            

Prays for prey to play peacefully on.

Talons out!

                

Snatch sharply,

                           Slays swiftly.

Big brown wings fan out, 

       regain lift, 

                 leap into the air, 

                                 leave not a trace.

The hungry victor clutches 

                                a hapless victim;

 Lands triumphant.

                        From a nearby limb,      

enjoys his supper,

                      Lord of his win, 

   

 Living by grace.

THH

8/4/25

Rev 8/6/25

Revised 8/15/25

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