An Eagle soared aloft in a clear blue sky,
by Joyce Marie Hayes
A king whose pride rang out with every cry.
His golden eyes alert and very sound he heard,
Yet he ignored the war cry of a big silver bird. Moving faster than sound it ignited his head,
Now in place of feathers, It's red where he bled.
It's terribly hard for pride to show,
When everyone is shouting, "It's a condor," from below. "Tis a sad sad day," he bemoaned his fate.
As he thought of going home and explaining to his mate.
How the flame danced a polka atop his head,
Leaving him bald and his pate cherry red. "Never again dare I claim the skies,
That dad-ratted jet nearly led to my demise.
When my feathers return and I'm suave once more
I'll be sure to listen for the jets raucous roar."