Writing with whispers one can say, tiptoeing among the words like a tenuous morning fog that coyly drapes the just awaken and naked sun raising itself from the horizon, a poetess that goes by you unnoticed, until her poetry perfume tell you that she was there...

Not a bird of prey, on the contraire,
this hawk is one she in the skies
telling you to dream your dreams
and never ever for it to apologize.

Also, that bird will whisper to you,
to believe in things you don’t see
because they are food of your soul,
and then, see all that you believe.

God gave her the serenity to accept
things that she couldn’t change here,
but also gave her the strong courage
to change for the good, many things.

To make my acquaintance with her
I can’t believe the blessed I was,
she came to my pages like a feather,
her name? Carol Surber aka Hawk.