When winter trees are bare of leaves,
Each branch is clearly seen,
No longer hidden by the summer
Blanketing of green.
Each branch is clearly seen,
No longer hidden by the summer
Blanketing of green.
And that is why I sometimes see,
Resplendently arrayed,
A hawk or falcon on a limb,
Exposed but not afraid.
Resplendently arrayed,
A hawk or falcon on a limb,
Exposed but not afraid.
Most patiently it scopes things out
And glances all around,
In hopes of spying something scurry
There upon the ground.
And glances all around,
In hopes of spying something scurry
There upon the ground.
I never see it swooping down,
Abandoning its perch,
But knowing what’s to come, I’d rather
Be left in the lurch.
Abandoning its perch,
But knowing what’s to come, I’d rather
Be left in the lurch.
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