Soft! The Falcon in Flight touches the moon,
Sweetly caresses her face, blocks for a moment,
Her travels 'cross the sky. A broken commune
An owl, stirred from its perch gives lament
Who dares, Who dims, Who breaks this revel dire.
Who disturbs, shades me from her holy face.
White Wings, A screech cuts the night like bale fire.
She flies for the falcon, an uneven race.
He dances gainst the sky, all fire and moonlight.
She transforms, changes and is the rave.
Fueled with Priestly fury, she enters the flight,
Her wicked beak, made for vile carrion,
Pierces the innocent intruder's breast
She rides him down, A mockery of love
Trespass on the Goddess, gain final rest.
Sonnet #17, ©'98 Kaatryn MacMorgan
