Sunday, December 27, 2015
The eagle frolicked in the storm;
I noticed there were three more.
Now four eagles were not frolicking,
But hunting death along the shore.
A broken crab, an injured gull,
Dead ducks or a grounded fish…
Scavengers of the stormy tides,
Find Penn Cove grants every wish.
There are winners and there are losers,
Some find food or are lost at sea…
Eagles fly with me along the bluff,
As friends, but they wait for me.