The true hunt is with the falcon, alert and quick to see, the sharp eyed falcon, distant in flight.
He flashes his eye-orbs that bear no scars – no mother fed him on diluted milk,
He was born, not on low-lying land, but on the lofty mountain peak.
Spare are the feathers on his fore-wing, but compact; speckled between back and throat.
Avidly he attacks the fast-leaping desert hares, that he espies,
piercing them through with lethal, spear-like claws,
and with beak curved in one fierce hook,
as they ascend the mountain-side – only to fall prey to the hunter-falcon.

Inspired by the poetry of Abu-Nuwwas – 138-198AH / 756-814CE