A Golden Hawk Circled Three Times Overhead

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A white bird flickered yonder,
Before the great green-treed hill.
It caught the sun in its fluttering wings,
Perching on a mulberry tree.

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They said they had seen it lately,
A rare and shining swallow
I stared as it danced further into the green,
I stood on the edge, wondering.

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I turned aside and followed up the hill,
Over the lightning fence and still,
I climbed through tall and dewy grass,
To the place I'd seen it last

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I passed through thorny bushes,
And up the slippery slope,
And over the rotting wood
And as I crested the vast holy hill,

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I removed my hat
And prayed

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And while I saw not my burning bush,
This is what I saw instead:

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I saw three purple flowers,
Like stars on a stem

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I saw where three great trees
were fallen and dead

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And when I had crested
And gazed up through the ceiling,

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I saw a golden hawk circle
Three times overhead