Nighthawks frolic in the evening sky.
They’re painting a mural as the fly.

They dip in drips of tempest and blue iris,
And swoop in hues of summer rain and rose.

Their brushstrokes swirl in tempo
with the Freedom call they shriek.

It's Love of Life they illustrate––
an impressionistic feat!

When light grows dim and colors fade,
And nighthawks leave for nests they’ve made.

I’m left with feelings I can’t describe––
fully spellbound and mesmerized.