The hawk landed at the vultures vale,
and saw the fetid cadavers,
as the vile birds jeered at him in order to prevail.
Who's going to guard him from the attackers?
Over-crooked bloody beaks,
sharp piercing talons,
their feather intensely reeks,
and their hollowed pupils are filled with alums.
First he striked hard,
and fought back fiercely,
but his wounds are heavily bleeding and his skin is scarred,
his powers failed him and he cannot take it anymore merely.
Now kettles are circling in the sky,
and their drawn-out hissings are echoing,
nevertheless he always wanted to fly really high,
but his choices are narrowing.
So he grew incisive claws,
joined committees on trees while counting the days,
ripped the flesh of corpses as if a hawk he never was,
and grunted over the decaying preys.
And so the cordial lambs,
cannot survive in the wolfs forests,
And some drops of water in dams,
cannot turn the torrents.
YOU ARE READING
The shark
PoetryThe shark does have tears running on his face, but he lives in the water so you don't see them and so comes the oceans to be salty.
