The falcons they hover all eight of them circling, so high on the updrafts, over mountaintop peaks, seeking food that sustains them, laid out so far below them, like a birdie buffet, granting all they can eat.
Moles nestled in Saw grass, blind to all that is seen, a quick snatch and they're breakfast, on sharp talons they scream, plump Squirrels full of acorns, scramble for trees in fear, in a flash they sail skyward, where they soon disappear. Rabbits stew in the hot sun, Chipmunks mere appetizers, even Groundhogs fall victim for these great winged surprisers. turning mouse into mousse, they plunge out of the sky, only those quick and agile, tiny creatures survive.
Perhaps far in the future, Falcons then will evolve in,
huge birds that will feed on, all the humans below them.
But for now Possums play dead, lest they end up Poss-sumptious, in a nest of young Falcons, who will find them quite scrumptious!
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