The Old Ones tell of the nest
Of the sacred bird called the Eagle
Home for her eaglets sits high,
Touching the sky.
A mother sits proud and defiant,
She has little ones who will soon leave her,
She worries;
The morning has come,
The Mysterious One's rays warm her children's faces.
Today one will fly or fall:
A flap of wings, a screech of power,
He leaps, he is gone.
His head does not look back
There is sadness behind.
He flies east his wings flapping power,
He passes his cousins of the air,
HE HAS BECOME AN EAGLE.
- Howard Rainer, Taos-Creek, 1977
|
Boy Scouts 
