The Red Kite
The Red Kite circles high above
And spys on ground a fallen dove
He swoops to pluck the carcass clean
Returns aloft with sight so keen
With all his aerobatic flair
He rises in the thermal air
Above the clouds with thoughts subdued
Embracing silent solitude
Carried on the wind around
That errie whistling wailing sound
As Kites will gather at the scene
Then dive to grasp the offal spleen
With whitish face and piecing eyes
He is the master of the skies
He scours the land , his food to seek
And tears the flesh with razor beak
Now all the air is filled with Kites
Just see their mesmerising flights
As each bird tumbles from the sky
To skim the ground then up they fly
This striking bird of chestnut red
Is once more common and widespread
A bird that soars so high to reach
The very Gods and so beseech