The Thunderbird

The Thunderbird

The Thunderbird spreads his wings and takes flight
From the peak he dives, disappearing in the night
Only to quickly fly in to view once more
He flaps his broad wings, and begins to soar

He flits about quickly; looks pretty nimble,
Then pirouettes around as if on a spindle
His head tilts back as he emits a mighty roar
Then dives to the lake below, hunting once more

His prey is the salmon, swimming upstream
In his claws are clasped two that are already lean
For they have spawned and laid their eggs,
Now they are clutched tightly in his powerful legs

They will serve nicely as a meal for his young
His mate will feed them one by one
Then he will sit on the nest and stand guard,
While she hunts for herself, for them it’s not hard

When she returns she will have eaten her fill,
Then he can hunt again, and once again he’ll kill
But only to survive, after all he’s not human
Most of that race just kill for no reason

The only thing the Thunderbird kills is his prey
Every morsel is consumed, or used in some way
Humans seemingly hunt and kill just for fun
They don’t use their hands, they resort to guns

And one day; a day I hope to never see,
The Thunderbird will be prey for a human like me
But they’re safe from me, I’d never kill a thing
Especially something so beautiful on wing

So I watch while I can, and chase others away
Knowing I can’t stop it, only delay that day
But maybe I can, for I’ll never tire of my task
For their survival is, the only thing I ask

Jim Dorrell
7/30/07