Published Categorised as Poetry, Writings

The bald eagles
Launch from the bleached
Pole trees and
Soar up and up over
The head of the photographer below.
Sixteen in all.
Click, click, click
She captures them oblivious
And smiles to see them free and together
Before turning away for the long trek home oblivious
To their sharp eyes on her
watching her walk on the hard, skittery sand into her future.

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