Seven Oaks is a well-known truck farm in our valley. I'm writing this poem for the local people and publication in the MEDFORD TRIBUNE. Please help me tighten it up. Dewell
SEVEN OAKS COMPANION
Seven Oakes redoubt cradles
a castle of sticks and twigs
waiting to be refurbished
before spring clutch.
Red tail hawk awaits his
mate's return from the shadow
of snowbound Mt. Pitt.
Winter's armament prevails.
Days lengthen, winds warm,
Pitt undresses into streamlets
feeding the river Rogue.
She does not return.
He rearranges the nest
of twigs and twine for her
as he has done for seven summers
of eggs, hatchlings, flight.
Each sunrise he swoops, sweeps,
gleans the meadow for family
fare... no mouths wide to feed,
no screams from circling young.
A summer squall bids him fly,
stitch the sky, disappear behind
a fading rainbow.
Dewell H. Byrd
SEVEN OAKS COMPANION
Seven Oakes redoubt cradles
a castle of sticks and twigs
waiting to be refurbished
before spring clutch.
Red tail hawk awaits his
mate's return from the shadow
of snowbound Mt. Pitt.
Winter's armament prevails.
Days lengthen, winds warm,
Pitt undresses into streamlets
feeding the river Rogue.
She does not return.
He rearranges the nest
of twigs and twine for her
as he has done for seven summers
of eggs, hatchlings, flight.
Each sunrise he swoops, sweeps,
gleans the meadow for family
fare... no mouths wide to feed,
no screams from circling young.
A summer squall bids him fly,
stitch the sky, disappear behind
a fading rainbow.
Dewell H. Byrd