The falconer masters it's craft,
Wings, a soaring scene, silent but to the eye,
Hands leathered bound, fearless, but to respect.
The call to command a performance,
To the kings scepter and rest.

The falconer rewards it’s bout.
Approval eyed, trusting held,
Hooded mask placed, it’s now a knight;
Called to the dark scene,
To the stage, it’s an eagle at rest.

©2007, Ron Globe