Hawk

Now you close your eyes of old,
Your Cleveland wings of brown and gold,
You swoop o'er earth and sand and sea,
Over the mountains, over the trees.
When you return home, lonely and sad,
To your nest, warm, homely, glad,
To rid yourself of dust and soil
And shuffle off your mortal coil,
You go to plough the pastures greener,
You feel lighter, softer, serener
And now, beyond your final day,
Into God's gardens you make your way.