rite of passage

Landing my boat on the shore, (my arms from rowing, weary, beaten)

Upward I looked and saw in tree aloft, a disturbance in the canopy,

The shrill cries and terrible flight of eaglets thrust over the edge,

Beating wings, sharp claws, fierce beaks tearing at the nest,

At once, exploding into sky bursts, beating the air in panic,

Spinning, turning, tumbling upon each other in gyrating wheel,

Till one, who is most young, parts, cries, separating, spreading wings,

All is still, save wind passing through, lifting, and carrying,

And upward go, one by one, the intrepid, once so afraid,

Now fixed in slow flight as they dip and turn and gaze

into the sun.




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