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  • Hugh Loxdale

Deadly Game

Updated: Feb 16


I saw a Sparrowhawk flying low,

A fitful presence, a grey shadow,

Perhaps glimpsed also by the Kite

That circled overhead in majestic flight,

High up in the evening sky,

As clear blue as a young girl’s eye.

But on the grey bird swiftly sped,

With only one thing in its head,

Unswerving in its detection,

A million years of tuned perfection,

Over hedge and fence at frightful speed,

Nothing, no distraction does it heed,

Deft, fierce, cruel, unswerving,

A scene both bold yet unnerving,

An awesome surge of primitive power,

Skimming relentless across grass and flower,

Until it plunges fast headlong

Into that company of pretty song,

Into that tangle of bramble thicket,

And knocks its prey like a crumpled wicket…

To seize an unsuspecting finch,

Its target, its aim to never flinch…

And then as surely as it came,

It retires, temporarily, from the deadly game.



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