My muse is refusing to work. It must have gone into the holiday mode! I am not at all happy with this piece. I can't even think of a proper title for it. Suggestions and critiques are welcome.
when sun comes down closing its wings, eagle returns home to that tallest tree- almost reaching towards yellow moon. changing facets of night keep it rooted. at first dawn of light, it will go its way- spreading its wings, circling all over, eyes on target, descending unhurriedly- with precision on its unsuspecting prey.