The Stratosphere Ballet

Oh, bird, majestic, soaring in the sky,
your wingspread hints an eagle you may be,
but no bald crown or white tail meets the eye.
A lesser bird, a vulture, do we see?

All eagles have not plumage black and white;
and, too, wind's force and lift may others aid,
and elevate to elegance, the flight,
in league with airy elements, high, unafraid.

Your species still a question in my mind,
performing in that awesome way, who'd care?
That stratosphere ballet, I, breathless find,
my earthbound soul, transported to the air.

It's God who choreographs the breezy sky;
base vulture, noble eagle glides and plays,
with thrill, reward the joyous, upturned eye.
How bountiful to view this wide world's ways.