Feathered Tears Poem by John Shea
Feathered Tears
I spied a bald eagle using the wind
To hunt for his prey.
He wandered afar as to leave my eyesight
Then soared with the wind
Back within my yearning eyes.
I wondered about what he saw
Not a cloud in the sky.
When I felt wet droplets pelting my face
He was crying I'm sure for
The total disgrace.
The struggle his downy chicks had to endure
While we fought each war.
While we wasted his land.While we let our greed
Get out of hand.
He circled away and the droplets subsided
Then he returned and I was soaked
On this clear sunny day.
With the grief that he felt
I am sure.
He let me know that he could not endure
The ravage we reek.
In the land of the free
And the home of the brave.
While we fought each war. While we wasted his land.While we let our greed Get out of hand Rachel Ann Butler
Terrific poem John and sadly a true story in every part of the world mans greed will always pose a problem for wildlife
I found strength in this write, a beautiful spirit soar and awakening from here..when it fly eagle will wandering because life created to be traveled..Be strong eagle punish the wind because of tears! _SOul
John, this is beautiful and insightful. Perhaps the Eagle is crying not only for the devastation to his home but also for us destroying ourselves. This shows what a sensitive and intuitive thinker you must be. Nice one. Namaste, Shirley
John - you have woven into the unique conception of this poem some needed appeals. Urgency of responsiblity flows through the piece - am glad I caught this one John. Top marks from Fay.
wonderful idea and wonderful poem.it is left to eagle to study the present, voted10 surya
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/17/2024 10:56:44 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I see bald eagles almost every day on my way to work and your poem will go through my thoughts when I see them next time. We can see their huge nest and watched the eaglets grow this year-wonderous vision! Today, we actually saw the 3 of them sitting in the dead tree in the river valley-one with his fresh catch in claw. Amazing, and I understand the message in your poem. Here in Minnesota the eagles are alive and well and growing.