The mighty eagle,
So graceful and brave.
Soaring high, higher into the sky.
All it sees is the bright blues and fluffy whites.
Soaring high, higher.
Sees nothing but air and open sky before its eyes.
Soaring high, higher.
The only sound around is the fluid motion of its wings as it glides.
He cries out,
The only one to hear his pleas is the hunter.
Soaring low, lower.
The only sight he sees is that black abyss.
Falling.
The mighty eagle,
Once graceful and brave.
Now sees only a jail cell.
Only sounds around is its scraping of its claws,
And the shouting and shooting of the hunter.
The mighty eagle,
Once so full of life,
Now drained and caged.
Eagle’s. Last. Flight.