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A buzzard aloft

Hallo! Hallo!
My Buteo.

I see you crescent king
Gliding, ever seeking.
And endlessly wheeling.

Describing parabolas,
Which taken as far as
Your careless casting eye
Spies from such vaultless sky.

Some kind of poor remnant -
Relic of life mordant -
Which you can surely see
(Invisible to me).


But least I can say that's not all;
For I can hear your mewing call,
And see your turning O and O.
Sail on my happy Buteo!

© RM Meyer
Winswell Water, 9 July 2018
(Written sitting outside the old studio)