The Eagles
Stretching the bow-bent wings in strenuous response,
erect, unterrified, in those hours of wild triumph
They graze the tempests like shafts of light.
Never conquered by the envious east winds,
flapping the waters like sodden flags,
They speed west, sweeping the broad horizon.
Whistling to the golden bullets of stars,
and braided with a chain of flashing suns,
They wheel down to Mother Earth,
where the greatest nations stay upon their crowns.
A. Topi Fall 1998
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