A Winter Stroll Beckoning Wordsworth

A walk through the fields, the marshes nigh Water risen steep along the banks Swinging low a grey tailed hawk flies To the girl's shrouded figure, stooping, it aims She feels the swoosh of its wings, her ash curls caught Entangled in a hundred claws Oh Oh she cries with a fearful yell The wind races the clouds' billowy bursts As she struggles to try and free herself She bends to the ground, though only for the worse Blood splatters the grass and soaks the soil Life gushes out, like lava at its boil Winter buries deep, the snowfalls and the setting suns Virgin white covers the silent and the frozen And in the Spring, when new life has begun Within the hug of her bones, a wing is broken