Buteo Jamaicensis Keens

When they hear it, 

some hear anger,

rife with seething, 

inner rage

in that Red Tail’s 

screeching call.

But as for me, 

I hear hunger 

in that hollow, 

banshee cry.

It’s clear to see 

some hear that too

as sparrows flee,

 diving for cover,

to avoid her 

fierce embrace.

Yet foolish dove, 

cooing, trusts her

And I have yet to fathom why.

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