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Date Written: September 18, 2017

Hovering, scanning daiseyed water-meadow, thundering motorway, industrial town suburb, farmers' fields, sleepy village, blue-grey pit-stacks, hazy distant woods and nettle patch for prey.  Raucous sparrows squabbling beneath the hawthorns and elders.  The predator unswerving, swooping.  A silent killer.  Golden plumage shining in the midday sun.  The kestrel rising.  Triumphantly returning to her chicks in the nest.  Startled sparrows scattering to gardens, orchards, elders, hawthorns and house gutters.

One comment on “THE KESTREL.”

  1. John Critchley     September 18, 2017

    The poem inspired by a kestrel swooping on and killing a sparrow just inches from where I was walking in a water-meadow.

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John Critchley

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