LPiA-25 Nov. 16

[brynmawr1]

I sit on the Delaware shore
my toes digging the sand.  Above,

an osprey soars on speckled wing.
Tucked, it plunges with fierce precision                     

piercing the shimmering blue;
emerging with a meal of silver

gleaming, tight in his talon. 
The raptor flies on beyond

the shriek and holler
of tanned children, playing

till they’ve had their fill,
nourished by every wave.

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I admit, edited, but recycled.