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)