In the dim dawn, there is no sound
Except for a songbird that stirs on the ground.
But pity the creature, for he faces death.
He is picked up, and robbed of his death.
Away she flies, meal in her claws,
Her graceful wings beat, her flight has no flaws.
Queen of her territory, proudly she flies,
Alpha of birds, lord of the skies.
This is no owl, hawk or eagle.
Nor is it the crow, and not the seagull.
This is a bird, that surpasses the rest,
She is the peregrine, the top, and the best.
She masters the wind, rules the air,
Does her hunting, and returns to her lair.
She's feared by the birds, respected by all,
She looks to the sky, regal and tall.
The falcon is wild, she cannot be tamed,
Though by falconers she is often famed.
Queen of the wind, proudly she flies,
As peregrine falcon, bird of the skies.