HAWK RIDGE
A long winding path led up to the ridge
Past a lovely waterfall, over a trestle bridge,
Rocks cut for steps to help you on your way
Seats for you to rest and a little while stay.

If you struggle on and so ascend to the top,
The view is enough to makes any heart stop
For a moment as you gaze in awe all around,
An endless vista before you like no other found.

The day was clear the wind blew through my hair,
A few who braved the climb and hawks were there,
I gazed and saw many lakes, some large, some small
With rivers, like blue ribbons connecting them all.

The wind held the hawks, wings outstretched, motionless
Just a little off the edge of the ridge, I must confess
That I wanted to reach out to hold one in my hand,
I wanted to glide, be a part of that hunting band.

I watched the sun reach its zenith in the blue sky,
Then the mood changed as some clouds rolled by,
As they came and they partially cover the sun,
A new vision came, a new pattern had begun.

It was a patchwork quilt of sunshine and shade,
It could not have a better sight if I had paid.
Then one by one the hawks swooped on unseen prey.
I hope I find that hawk ridge on another lovely day.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson July 18, 2003