The Red Kite

Regal and Stoic, Perched on thorns,
She surveys with incisive eyes.
Her quarry stirs, still unaware
of any danger or demise.

Magnanimous, her glacial stare,
Fixated, breathlessly and still,
Poised like an ancient statue
high above her kill.

The slightest breeze vexes her crown,
silently inviting the chance,
she then takes hand with the wind
and he regales her with this dance.