Author Hiroaki Sato This morning, in the faint light of dawn a pheasant called, lords, a pheasant and a hawk called, passing by. A pheasant calls and stretches its wings. A pheasant calls and becomes a hawk's food. Wings stretched, it will fall on that hill. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments