The Hawk packed his bags, pacing, eager to fly, ready to go –
“Oh my my, you’ve grown so very tall”
Dream scenes mixing with reality,
And longing for a beautiful farewell,
The Hawk stopped at the Owls nest to see if he had gotten any further with his
contemplation of death and the depth of the human soul,
But he hadn’t,
And the Hawk knew this would be the answer before knocking on the Owls door,
Who was calmly sitting in his double chair,
Ashtray on knee,
Blowing smoke out of his nose,
Deep in thought and brooding with melancholy,
Full of fatherly advice and o’so full of excitement and pain.
The visit was short.
And so the Hawk went to see the Bard of Bird Pond,
For the Crane would be a sight for sore eyes,
For a final time.
The same Crane who had led him to the decision to leave,
On a journey toward understanding and inner reflection
“It doesn’t matter; we are all going to die and it just doesn’t matter anymore”
The Crane said through sad eyes,
A long time ago,
And again for a final time.
The same Crane who now went from place to place brooding with melancholy and the confusion of knowing too much.
But it did matter, and it will always matter, and the Hawk understood that,
And was no longer hung-up on life’s wall mounts of thinking it didn’t matter.
The Hawk stopped at the Peacocks house,
Thought a moment,
Not knowing what he might have been expecting.
And the sun set,
And the Hawk sat on the curb,
Cigarette in hand,
Smoke in nose,
Knowing too much,
Contemplating what really mattered,
Wondering if his journey had made him a better man,
A lump sum of all he knew,
Or thought he knew,
And all the people he had met and would meet.
And the Sparrow saw,
And the Sparrow had no more to say.