The Modern PoetFor your words and others.
Release 15
Always tinkering.

I use this place too. I keep finding things to add, change, or make a little better.

Latest check: 1,242 passed. Regular checks, ongoing improvements.

This round: quieter reading, book-style chapters, and one HH throughout.

THE MODERN POET

The Cries of a Hawk

By HH

The Cries of a Hawk
Kree-ah! Come, my silver wing! You cross the sky and softly sing; I send you every song I know— But still you hum and onward go. Kree-ah, kree-ah, fly with me! Over the hill and over the tree; I call to you, you hum to me— What kind of bird can my true love be? You mist the thistle, wet the rye, And paint the petals passing by; I dip and turn and wonder why— You never answer my hawk’s cry. Kree-ah, kree-ah, fly with me! Over the hill and over the tree; I call to you, you hum to me— What kind of bird can my true love be? Each day you circle nearer still, Past rabbit’s run and over the hill; Deep in the heart of my home you fly— I call your name across the sky. Kree-ah, kree-ah, fly with me! Over the hill and over the tree; I call to you, you hum to me— What kind of bird can my true love be? No beak, no feathers, not a cry; Still round my heart you hum and fly; I do not care what kind of thing— Kree-ah! Come, my silver wing.

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POETRY. PHILOSOPHY. THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE.

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Box one belongs to works shared here—pictures, poems, or both—with a new selection each hour. The other three change one at a time every fifteen minutes. One is a Halloween poem through October. Skip any card, or pause while you read.

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