Blast That Hawk!

Looking out into my backyard at mid-day,
I spot not a single bird at my four feeders.
Even the squirrels have not come to play.
What’s up? I’ve always had flocks of ‘seeders’.

Just then movement at the back fence down near the ground
catches my eye. A young hawk stands there; his only movement is
his head slowly turning. Nothing in the yard is making a sound.
This one small hawk has made my backyard exclusively his.

“Well, that certainly explains why there is not a bird in sight.
But, why is he on the ground? Maybe he’s hurt, sick, or weak.”
Suddenly, the hawk, clutching a sparrow in his talons, takes flight.
“Oh, he’s made a kill! He’s taken another from the ranks of the meek.”

Seen previously, I had hoped this hawk had been just passing through.
Now he seems to have driven away most of my bird population
by regularly hunting in my yard from his home along the nearby bayou.
Blast that hawk! He’ll keep me from being able to watch Nature in action…

ASIDE : This poem is a companion poem to one I wrote previously about this
same young hawk making an unsuccessful hunt in my backyard.
That poem, entitled “The Predatory Life”, may be read here also.

Harry Edward Gilleland      3.03.02