None but I rule the sky,

No Hawk nor Eagle,

Nor sparrow, nor swallow,

Nor man with machine,

Can match my skill.

None can follow.

No creature of Earth or Sea

Can turn with me

Nor match my speed.

 

The Quail is aloft

And cannot see me on high

above the clouds where I fly.

I wish you could understand what it is to be me,

a bird of prey

that hunts at such velocity.

 

With folded wings,

I roll and plumet toward the bird so frail.

Gravity is my ally,

no force of G is a concern for me.

 

Twisting and turning

within the tumultuous air

that buffets and flows

over wing and feather.

 

Time has no meaning

As I streak at an angle of

Impossible recklessness.

Plummeting vertically

From heaven’s azure hue

A strike in mid-flight

Like a flash of lighting.

The prey has no time for pain,

or fright.

 

So poor is man,

adhered to his land,

He is forced to use machines to imitate my grace.

Of my way he can barely understand.

 

I sore above his fake towers,

His smoke and decay,

With beauty and spirit

Not taking what is not given

Of mother’s rich display.

 

Seek me on a clear day

Above the ground against

The shimmering blue.

If you are lucky

You will see me plunge

To feed my young

I will take your breath away.