Saying that grading has wiped me out does not convey just how much grading has wiped me out. So here's something I just made up in the shower and revised as I was writing it down and typing it here.
Hark, How the Hawk
Hark, how the hawk, heroic of heart,
starts to a soar, speeding like sparks,
laughing, winging, flawlessly flying,
invading as raptor, rapidly diving
down to dun sea of sun-scented sand.
Wind wanders there and winsomely wends
past plains of grass, past plots of grain,
to where the air stills and stays to remain
till talon has taken its terrible toll.
The hawk swiftly slows, softened in soul,
braving rare airs with reverberant cry,
yet watching that wind with wide, wondering eye.
