Mounted Up With Wings (from the parsonage window)

From an eagle's nest,
I hear a mother's cry
High above the rocky crags,
Reaching toward the sky
Clutching to the branches
Of a tall sitka spruce
Majestically, enthroned,
A mother guards her brood.

A fireball arises,
As if out of the sea
Stillness and silence,
a salty mist to breathe.
Mountains paint the backdrop
As they crash into the sea
For the mother, there's no time,
There's eaglets now to feed.

From the salty mist,
I hear a mother's cry
High above the rocky crags,
She circles in the sky
Clutching to the branches
Of the tall sitka spruce
Three frightened eaglets,
But mother calls her brood.

A fireball descends,
As if into the sea
Reflections like a mirror
Cast hues of antiquity
Rising ore the sunset,
As if painted in the sky
One lone eagle,
You can hear her freedom cry.

From the eagle's ways,
A lesson draws us nigh
It's resting on the stormy blasts,
She mounts to heaven's heights
Powerful, majestic,
Effortless she soars
Mounted up with wings
Is to wait upon the Lord.

By Sheryl A. Jackson