Golden as the sunlight

A walker in Powys
Had found her
A Golden Eagle
And she
was dead in a river
Though had received shots
A wonderful bird
Just to see

Flying, a wingspan
To dream of
A Great beak and talons
To match
A predator who
Hunts out of the blue
And no other bird
Is a patch

On an Eagle
In this rural heartland
Where mountains and craggy caves
Hide
The National Park
Where she made her mark
In the thermals of course
She would ride

She escaped almost
12 long years earlier
The tragedy these days
Is some
Hunters are just always
Ready
To down the wild souls
Just so numb

To the godliness
And to the miracle
Of Golden Eagles that fly
Raptors are feeling the pressure
From the gamekeepers who
Are Protecting their sport
Which is why

To have lived all this time
And a few months before
Been featured we hear
On Tv
In a film “the last wilderness”
Where she did spread
Her wings just a miracle
And now she is dead

Live and dead bodies
Would have been on her table
A beautiful bird so serene
Rabbits and Hares and Grouse
Would be usual
And Ptarmigan too
Might have been

But now she was lying
Doused in the water
Fungal myccosis
Dehydrated too
A beautiful spirit
A wandering vagabond
At the Rainbow Bridge
No doubt flying true.