One... two... three... seven red kites -
All
in 4
acres
of
Ilkley sky!
Their
high-pitched mewlings
-
Falling 4ths and variations thereon -
Add
to their vocal presence here.
Together,
the kites assert their ownership
Of
the clear, sharp, upper air.
They possess the sky around here...
That's until
the peevish
crows
Gang
together to battle them.
These
kites – have they chased away
Our kestrels... our sparrowhawks?
Only
the buzzards roam here now.
And, like the Kites, their
sad-baby call
Etches
its memory on the landscape.
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