Swinging through the clouded blue,
From horizon black to horizon red,
Wings spread wide as she flew,
The Eagle Hawk swooped and sped.

Through the vast and shaded lands,
Of bush and singing creeks,
Over the howling Dingo bands,
He dips wing and away he streaks.

High towards the orange sun,
Then low towards the ground,
Swinging in on a chicken run,
Swooping without a sound.

The up again with his prey,
Winging towards the sky,
His powerful wings a powerful display,
Of grace and savage pride.

But then alas! The air was shattered,
By a sudden deadly blast,
The Hawks fine wings were sadly scattered,
By the bullet that sped so fast.

He dropped his prey and floated down,
Like a stone in a silver pool,
Through helpful leaves then to the ground,
To lie in the shadowed cool.

All Gods life from him had gone,
His freedom had been brief,
Now, beyond the peaks the sun,
Had hidden it's face in grief.

Night drew tight about the bush,
A curtain dark and cold,
The creeks the glades all a hush,
A silence for the bold.

Then from the vast green bushland hills,
From the shrub filled gullies deep,
From the plains and leafy sills,
Awakened from their sleep,

The Dingoes from the denser lands,
Came near to howl their grief,
The Kangaroos and wallabies in many bands,
The Bower Birds with their wreaths.

Wombats, Phalanger's, Koala bears,
Came through the tree's in scores,
Even the Platypus was there,
The Cassowary and many more.

The congregation gathered there,
Where the Eagle Hawk lay dead,
Together they bowed in prayer,
Though not a word was said.

Then as the blue moon floated by,
And the crimson haze appeared,
The bushland hills came alive,
The swirling creaks they cheered.

The new day blossomed with the light
The vast sky was cloudless still,
An Eagle Hawk in swooping flight,
Rose gently over the hill.

©Copyright June 1955 by Colin F. Jones

Page Updated: Tuesday March 6, 2012
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