Under the blue dome of the sky
I watched the funeral procession of scabby vultures.
Patience makes them wait
until any unfortunate animal
death comes to claim.
I hear the murmuring wind,
\"poor animal, death comes its way.\"
Now the land waits patiently
to remove from its bones
the nutrients for its own.
The vultures spiral in formation
round, round, round they go,
waiting for a signal from down below.
Death, death, death is taking hold,
Quickly the vultures dive
heeding to the invitation
that nature has to offer to
swiftly come to dine.
.