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Wandering along the winding trail I watch as hawks play
ducking and diving, swooping and tumbling and climbing
up again, making a magnificent display backed by their 
shrill cries to each other

Riding the thermals
climbing up in unison
wild spirits air bound

They have three fledglings to rear, so back to hunting
they go, sharp eyes spotting the rustle in the undergrowth
wings folded they plunge down like raining bullets
striking hard they carry it back to the nest to feed the chicks

Three fluffy small chicks
baby plumage now changing
they look so scruffy

Now fully feathered they flap and stretch their wings
then first one takes to wing finding it hard to land
it misses its mark a few times, at last alighting 
undignified on a branch

New generation
one day they too will have chicks
and so the cycle goes

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