The hawk sees by the light
of a moon that dwells in ease,
flying low without the need to seize
some mouse sleeping in the night.
Restful now in its flight,
no vision of the dance cerise,
lofting on a gentle breeze,
lacy trees, a lovely sight.
This is creation coalescent,
not the daytime beak so fleet,
obeying life’s unyielding creed.
This is beauty luminescent,
moment tender, mild, and sweet.
Answer to a creature need.
