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.