Rechor rises
From death,
They know't not
The purest
in coat
of feathers
from mounts o' Scott
Has hidden
the darkside-
death's darkest spot.
Rechor smells and sees alike,
I see her claws pass m'sight.
Wings abroad say eight feet,
Quite a big bird coat's a sleak.
The feathers are desired by collectors' eye
When off the branch immediately th'sky.
Up 'n' after her brunch, mice a'nice,
The Scottish ones might suit quite
Nicely to think o' a tiresome flight.
Claws preceedin' a sharpened beak
Swallow head first t' last 'er th' week.
rechor leaves her nest, she desires for danger
t'is not wise, they might e'en change her
for they need 'er for thier feather pride
rechor is only safe up there in th' sky
above the head o' the hunter kkyle
the way is near of the British Isle
a shot o' the gun and a sure fire shot
this is no amateur, oh kyle is not
passin' her heart by a subsecond
rechor does fly higher, too near her reckon
o'er to the nest is the goal of the bird
for Kyle is playing the shot for his word
a second shot and rechor does breathe
it's the third one that colors his greed
rechor drops and 'er heart pumps 'er last
'i got you, thought you were fast?'
no mercy, her life is now in text
luckily for us rechor has a next.
