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per amica silentia lunae

or, across the ferny brae with the evil voodoo celt

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poetry for the birds
The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

This one I chose because a turkey vulture appears to have taken up residence somewhere in our office park. Not sure if it's nesting (hope so!), but I've seen it around a lot, both wheeling in circles in the air above and hunching like an avian Col. Klink (I can almost see the monocle) on the roof of the building next door. They're ugly cusses close up, not as pretty as an eagle, but I never get tired of watching them fly...

I love the crisp, concise imagery in this, and the way the assonance and alliteration supports the simple rhyme scheme. Tennyson has been much-maligned in the past. Honestly, I think he was poet laureate a little too long, and spent a little too much time writing poems about Princess So-and-so's birthday and such. But then there's the one I quoted above, and "Ulysses" and "The Lady of Shallot" and others...

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Four turkey vultures had a party this weekend on the road near the property. Mmmm... opossum...

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