Siesta of a Vulture

Soaring high that was a dot, On the blue azure it was a moving spot, My eyes were blinking in the sunshine, as this dot-spot was caught, I watched its circular move, as if it moved in a groove, it was enjoying the height, where wind blew and temperature was slight, idling in my siesta, I dug with spoon in my pasta, I looked up again now, the dot had taken a bow, and climbed a little down, interested that ground had him something shown, I watched letting pasta go cold, this dot was now lower and bold, its majestic wings came in sight, it turned and wobbled not much but slight, I noticed its sharp beak, vulture it was so it did speak, soon it was swooping inch ahead of head, and suddenly it changed path, and swiftly very swiftly charged, and came head long for me, I could let me be me, shrieked and cried I startled, the vulture had dug into my pasta, and now was climbing up on his on siesta.