The Hawk
by Raymond Knister (1899-1932)

Across the bristled and sallow fields,
The speckled stubble of cut clover,
Wades your shadow.

Or against a grimy and tattered
Sky
You plunge.

Or you shear a swath
From trembling tiny forests
With the steel of your wings—

Or make a row of waves
By the heat of your flight
Along the soundless horizon.

Views: 34