He swoops gracefully across the field,
Propelled by the wind, a steady blur,

An arched neck, slender and toned,
Proportioned body of muscle,

Bird of ample strength, solid gold,
Thrushes out rabbits amongst the thistle,

Attacks with ravage talons and lifts,
Dying creature in mighty grasp,

Tight lipped until his catch is dead
He touches down upon the grass,

Sharp beak, hard as lead
His wary eyes the colour of wine,

Cuts roughly into his victim’s core,
The Golden Eagle begins to dine.