now thou but stoop’st to me
—Ben Jonson
The falcon like a teardrop heaven cries
from higher than the city’s tallest tower
designed to fall precisely through clear skies
now hurtles at two hundred miles per hour
At such a speed what keeps her flashing eyes
from drying out her lungs from ripping open?
She’s been made fast but pigeons were made wise
at least enough to dodge a diving falcon
But you O Lord are like a bird of prey
whose talons I would not try to resist
When caught I will not try to get away
when held by you I’ll pray that you’ll persist
O hold me Lord while I am here below
then lift me up for I’ll be glad to go
—D. S. Martin
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