The Master kestrel (Falco Tinnunculas) Poem by john (called jack) wren

Attached to a string held by a cloud
The windhover lingers, imposing and proud,
It hangs in the air a piece of fine art
In a game of chance trying to outsmart
Those small of stature lacking in thought
Who travail the highways bereft of escort.
Then, descending slowly to a lower plane
Within easy reach of the terrain,
It stays focused on the world below
Senses sharpened and honed for the blow.
It may drop again before the embrace
Then deliver in person the stroke of grace,
That would ease in time the gnawing pain
Transmitting distress signals to its brain.
Hunger rules and survival is the plan
In that department, it's a true artisan,
It is the master of hovering flight
Who explodes like a stick of gelignite.