By J. Carlstad   Feb 2006

Rays of the sun

a-glint on his head

His dark wings he tucked under

As off he sped

Exuding tight energy

A sense of alarm

His eyes snapped and sparkled

Streamlined in charm

Smooth was his flight

Sense of grace, sense of style

Purpose and power

None would dare to defile

Never missing a beat

He commanded respect

A power felt by the prey

That he chose to select

His skates gripped the ice

Like talons in flesh

Fused with practice and skill

Force and speed would then mesh

Achieving his quest

Blades would glint like the sun

As through each play

Man and falcon were one.