A Hawk Is Not a Rabbit

He got the message!
A birthday gift from his son
(and daughter-in-law) who
kept his house, a certificate
for a corner room in
Retirement Manor.

He tramped out to the garden,
whacked off a few dry heads
with his cane, sat on his campstool
and stared at the landscape.
It stared back. He tore the
certificate to shreds and poked
the pieces into the dirt.

His wispy white hair stood up
in a challenging crest,
his hands trembled as anger
stiffened to pride, never a hawk
to be trapped like a rabbit.