Tag Archives: hawks

Flight of Freedom

Flight of Freedom

North, south, east or west
which way they’ll go, we know not best.
The butterfly course is often loose
its hectic path we can’t deduce.

The hawk, it goes from tree to tree
and often times he’s hard to see
like where he lights or when he goes
or what he does or what he knows

That makes it hard to track his flight;
to keep him in your line of sight
because he hides against the sun
and climbs the thermals, one by one.

Until he’s all but out of view,
way up high against the blue
where he can see for miles around
the smallest thing that’s on the ground.

We’re surely jealous of his flights
his climbing prowess to awesome heights
his need of freedom, his view on high
of where he lives….up in the sky.

There is good reason to be like him
To live our lives…. at the brim
To protect all freedom from tyranny’s hold
and tell its story….’til all behold.

© 2012 t. j. gargano

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‘O. Henry, The Crow”

Another, nonsensical, fun poem that I wrote when I was a young man and here’s a little story behind it.

Working at an A & P market, a co-worker of mine was studying taxidermy and wanted to know if I wanted a stuffed animal.  I thought he was talking about a tiger or something (yeah right)…anyway, I said ‘sure.’  I was living at home, of course, and didn’t think anymore about it.  But a week later, Johnathan brings me in this huge crow sitting on a log.  This bird had been eating for a while, which is probably why he got caught.

Well, I took him home and it scared mom to death but she let me keep him.  Johnathan had done a superb job with him and for reasons I do not know or can’t remember, I named him…O. Henry.  Years later, I had him sitting on a high cabinet next to a window, and when mom was visiting, she moved that curtain and it hit O.Henry and he came down on her and AGAIN…scared her to death.

A few more tumbles, over the years, did him in, but he remains a good memory.  Here is ‘O. Henry’

“O. Henry, The Crow”

O. Henry, O. Henry, O. Henry’s my crow.
Sittin’ there thinking, what does he know?
O. Henry just sits there each day of the week,
sittin’ there thinking unable to speak.

O. Henry, O. Henry speak up my boy.
Give me thy troubles, tell me thy joys.
O. Henry, O. Henry remember the days,
you used to fly the hours away.

Through summer all faded, and when fall has been sewn,
sitting there thinking, he’ll be all alone.
His mind must be roamin’, his thoughts must be high
remembering the good days, up in the sky.

Winter has come now; O. Henry must sleep.
Spring will be coming to gather her reap.
His majesty O. Henry, O. Henry the crow
Sitting there thinking……… but nobody knows.

copyright © 2012 T.J. Gargano


Filed under wildlife