The ink black hawk let free his song, mournful in the dawn,

His feather, it was broken, and for it the bird did mourn.

Holding back a bitter tear, he schooled himself to quell,

All hated thoughts so left him, his heart in pain did dwell.

--

His brother, loving brother, had just against him fought,

The black and starlit night, with treason had been fraught.

And though his heart was wounded, he swept away his hate,

To live a vengeful life, he’d not choose it as his fate.

--

But the strong black bird still wept, for the brother he had slain,

His torn and tattered feather, the symbol of his pain.

And as he sat alone, in that beginning dawn,

He tried to look for Hope, for light as it was born.