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By Robert D. Wilson
Centerport, PA

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Befeathered now, the tiny warrior
In triumph dances round the blaze,
Filling the night with chants of vict’ry,
          In laughing songs of boastful praise;
“I’ve climbed the heights where the Eagle,

Mighty Eagle, found her rest!
“And snatched from there an egg and feather
          While she slept upon her nest!”

But then the wise man comes rebuking,
          “Do you know what you have done?
“That sleeping Eagle posed no danger,
          But with the coming of the sun
“She’ll wake and see and know her loss;
          With dreadful cry she’ll voice her pain,
“Then turn her eyes to seek the villain:
          Vengeful gaze fall on this plain!”

“I’m not afraid!” the youth responds,
          With haughty voice filled with disdain.
The Eagle’s bloodied, I took her feather:
          She’ll not be able to fly again!”
“Not afraid?” the old man counters,
          “You think one quill will steal her might?
“The Eagle’s feathers all united
          Will bring her here with deadly flight!”

“Lightening filled, a storm of anger,
          With dark resolve she’ll fill our skies:
“Mother’s strength will launch her upward,
          On mighty vengeful wings she’ll rise!
“That sleeping Eagle, you’ve awakened,
          Will haunt our heavens till you die:
“Foolish one, too late you’ll realize,
          It’s best to let sleeping Eagles lie!”