My feet are locked upon the rough bark. 
 It took the whole of Creation To produce my foot, my each feather: 
 Now I hold Creation in my foot Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly— 
 I kill where I please because it is all mine.
Hawk Roosting (1960)
My feet are locked upon the rough bark. 
 It took the whole of Creation To produce my foot, my each feather: 
 Now I hold Creation in my foot Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly— 
 I kill where I please because it is all mine.
Hawk Roosting (1960)