He watches through the eyes of an eagle
The valley down below;
He soars on the wings of an eagle
While the sky is all aglow.
No one can see the true beauty
Of his mountains, his valleys, his sky;
No one can know of the treasures
Unless seen through this eagle's eye.
And still, though surrounded by beauty,
He envies the ones with the gold;
He grows to covet their treasures,
And he knows he is growing old.
So he trespasses, knowing he shouldn't,
In the realm of those who go bad,
Forgetting the honor he's lived with
And all of the freedom he's had.
High on the hill is a statue,
Standing so splendid and regal--
It turns into dust, as all of us must,
Gone with the death of an eagle
--Kirby Jonas, Fall 1994
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