The Vulture Poem by Matt Burgett

The Vulture



Sweeping in majestically through the clouds
It's a sight of disbelief
As the vulture looks for prey
Finding anything just to make it through the day

And then landing on that telephone pole
All alone and by it's self
It gets so awfully lonely
Must be it's so very homely

With the talons so razor sharp
And the skin wrinkled from being old
The vulture just sits with no results
Depressed and getting cold

And through a slow and hungry day
With nothing to result for
The vulture returns home
It's stomach empty and sore

Now because It's feathers have all fallen out
And it hears voices in it's head
there's nothing left for me to do
But confirm that it is dead

And staring right off into space
The vulture slips off the pole to the ground
It closes it's eyes
Thudding right as it finally dies

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