Picture by Steve Clarkson
Upon the slopes of Mount Impossible,
I slipped into a dream,
Where stood a curious Meagle—
Stranger than it might seem.
At first, I was confounded,
Uncertain what to make,
Likely it, too, was puzzling
The nature of my wake.
Clutching tight to reason’s thread,
I stumbled into doubt—
For such a creature, half and whole,
Defied all sense throughout.
A primate’s legs, a winding tail,
No hands or arms in sight,
Buzzard eyes and eagle’s beak,
Grim and sharp as night.
I searched for words to speak,
And all I breathed was a hiss—
The Meagle turned with sideways glare,
As if to say, "Amiss."
“Of all you see, and all concealed,
I am the regal Meagle here,
No questions may be asked of me,
No pondering or leer.”
“Look once more, reflect, be still,
Before you dare to proclaim
Your riddle wrapped in serpent’s sound,
And speak my curious name.”
Oh, regal Meagle, clearly now,
My folly I deplore,
With deepest bow and humbled heart,
I ask forgiveness evermore.
The Meagle flicked its tail with grace,
Then vanished toward the light,
And as it climbed the mountain’s peak,
I faded out of night.
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