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Hawk
On this mountaintop I sit
In solitude reclined –
For such a heightened lift
Soul-weary did I climb
The world foresworn – a bit
(My aching heart inclined)
A flowing form of art
A hawk goes soaring by
In curving – graceful – arc
Suspended in the sky
It liberates my heart
And with the hawk I fly
Heart to beating heart
Eye to seeing eye
Copyright ©
John Oldham
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