Brooding, brooding sky of grey,
In a young land, far, far away,
Banked up clouds, in sepia tones,
‘Mongst winter, in the colder zones.
Bare- branched trees, that sigh and moan,
As winds blow rough across the dome
Of Heavens, seeming all forlorn,
In an early morning dawn.
Gruff wakening, I hear the call,
‘Come see the turkey vultures fall
And dip their wings, so gracefully,
A chance, a sight, that you must see’.
One sits on branch in tree- top, high,
Black, outlined against the sky.
The other soaring, dipping o’er,
Around its partner, calling, caw.
So, I watch with eyes a- gleam,
Camera shutter, clicking team.
Maybe twenty pictures clicked
Distant images, eagerly picked.
I watched them circle round the trees,
Several minutes passed with ease.
Then aloft, they climbed and flew away,
To warmer climes, where its bright all day.
Copyright. Evelyn J. Steward, May, 2014