American Spirit . . . .
As eagle swoops at break of day
Talons cling to wriggling prey.
Having hunted and found his quest
He soon returns to guard his nest.
Shimmering cliffs that brightly shine
From rust colored monolith's high
Create golden treasures
Within the sunset sky.
The smell of Autumn's in the air
Chill of night falls fast. . .
The eagle soars through clouded sky,
His kingdom won through triumphs past.
© Connie Marcum Wong
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