Rain falls on high, where the hawk flies, Bathing its feathers under wide, open skies. In droplets pure, its wings find grace, Nature’s gentle touch in a quiet embrace.
The storm above, fierce and wild, Meets the hawk’s strength, unbeguiled. With every drop, a song of the free, A cleansing hymn for you and me.
For in the rain, the hawk stands tall, Finding solace in the sky’s gentle call. Through clouds and storms, it soars unchained, In the rain’s caress, its spirit sustained.
Poem by Theda Sandiford
