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Hawks circling, a perfect geometry
Wings shining under the blue skies of Capillahan
Laser eyes locked on to the prospect prey
Little chicks wandering, aimless
Scratching for small worms
Away from mother hen’s realm
The predator dived to snatch an oblivious little chick
Its chosen meal for the day
The raging lad, the chicks’ self-chosen protector
Waited, aimed, stretched his sling-shot, released
And missed, badly missed
As the nonchalant hawk soared back to the skies
Between the protector and the predator
The battle was a draw
As it has always been a hundred times before
No winner, no loser
The ground belongs to the merry chicks
The skies to the hawks
Progress named Industry came to town
Bringing smog to Capillahan
Lured to education’s portals
The lad sadly left the mother hens
To shield the unmindful chicks
From the hunters in the skies
The lad returned as a man
Not with a slingshot,
To resume battle with his adversaries
But with a camera,
To capture a glimpse of their radiance beneath the blue skies
But the hawks were gone
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