The pterodactyl flies,
the pristine skies,
of a volcano infested,
landscape elective.

From keen eyes,
nothing that swims or flies,
escapes undetected.

Nothing that walks,
misses the gaze,
of this reptilian,
surveillance collective.

With frame strong and light,
and muscles of might,
skin flared for lift,
and glide.

Radar and rudder,
between telescopic sight,
navigation so subtle,
time on her side.

The mighty pterodactyl
floats on thermals,
and glides downstream,
a thousand miles,
is but a day’s ride.

Carrion or fresh,
she craves fish or flesh,
to regurgitate to her,
high nested young.

Queen of the skies,
she is highest and last,
to see the setting sun.

And the first to see it rise.



Copyright Gina Miller 1998-2007


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