The Hawk

It’s propellers let it soar at great heights,

It’s bendable wings stretch out to glide in the night.

It’s surface covered with a coating of brown paint,

Which doesn’t exude off not even in rain.

It’s two pitch-black eyebrows examine the  ground like a radar,

Searching for a target to strike before arriving back to the hanger.

Suddenly it nose-dives it has found its next target,

It can not retire it has already started.

It pulls out its weapons of bone and marrow,

Little does the target know it’s survival chances are narrow.

Slowly it glides it’s mission is complete,

It knows that it’s target could not compete.

It lands back at the base for now it can rest,

and share with the others and make them impressed.

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