The Silencer

A shadow across sunlit skies

The keenness of orange eyes

As prey engulfs the middle of the road 

Its flight path unaltered.

A Goshawk of stale grey and dark brown 

Its victims fleeing. Silent flight,

Lethal talons, fatal beak, 

Screaming, a war cry, a shriek. 

Something the road can’t conceal… 

Alas, the Goshawk’s favourite prey.

The baby chicks know their plight:

The Goshawk is their hunter. 

The Goshawk swoops and soars and dives,

To hunt for prey, to keep itself alive.

The Goshawk stretches out it’s talons

He grabs and rips his tasty prey.