Life's Last Meal

was saying "good't mornin"
...to the bird-seed eaters...
both feathered and furred

...as...

a local golden eagle
...on its daily soar...
flew by high over the trees

...then...

seed-eaters and i went quiet
...at the sound of a splat...
as brown lumps hit the sun deck

...now...

the eagle flew quickly past 
...it's claws prey passed too...
its last meal gone meant it was ready to chew 

stan sand
Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

Poem

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