On a soaking toddy-palm
As thin as a stick
Talons I sharpen and my beaks-
A hawk in the rain
To tear your guts and brain.
Fire flash from my eyes
As if from the skies
To strike you and your house
Amidst the whistling boughs.
Beware my shrill tone
For I turn beings into bone.
I mince mice and men,
I pound pythons and hens.

Only
In this downpour I tire
For the time being retire
To a partly-hooded electric wire
Glistening and great…

And it is too late to hate.