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I got my wings right on my back,

Got a six, got to build up an eight pack,

The regimen involves walking and flying,

My feet are a dying,

You know I’m a determined raptor whether it’s hunting or eight packs,

Once I’m through I’ll be back up in the trees and my twiggy shack….

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AND AN EXTENDED VARIANT FOLLOWS….

On feathered wings, a daggered blur,
The raptor rides the thermals’ stir.
A crown of gold, a piercing gaze,
A hunter’s heart in feathered maze.

Sharp talons grip a weathered pine,
Where wind whispers secrets, intertwining.
Sunrise paints the canyon walls,
A silent vow, the predator calls.

With eyes like embers, keen and bright,
It scans the plains in morning light.
A flicker, twitch, a sinuous grace,
The lightning strike, the thrilling chase.

No eight-pack dream, but instincts honed,
By generations, skyward bound.
The kill a dance, a primal need,
Nature’s balance, a feathered creed.