Bird
 This morning a very strange thing occurred:
Lying on the terrace, a lifeless, dead bird.
Not damaged by cat or by bird of prey,
Its eyes still wide open with alarm and dismay.
A bee-eater, often seen on overhead flight,
Its colourful plumage always such a delight.
But always too fast to see all its detail
As it flocks across rambla and mountain trail.
But here on the terrace its feathers still glow
With its range of colours like a misplaced rainbow.
You can see all the hues together merged and blended,
A bird who was glorious, brilliant and splendid!
What did you used to see in your mind’s eye
As you flew so freely across the wide open sky?
What was it like to have a bird’s eye view
With your vibrant colours against the backdrop of blue?
Would you remember sailing across the summer breeze,
Catching on the wing all your wasps and bees?
Or recall how you landed and rested your wings
As you squeezed out their venom and extracted their stings?
Social, gregarious and often seen swarming,
In evenings we’d often see your colonies forming.
Did you and your friends each have your social rank
As you lived in dry holes along the dry river bank?
I look at you now with all life gone from you,
With your gold and your red and your green and your blue -
Your long brown tail and your sharp curved beak -
What would you tell me if you could speak?
I’ve never been so close to such a bird before
And touched the wings which used to help you soar.
I thank you for your beauty when you used to fly by:
I’ll lay you in a place where you can still see the sky.
Copyright © David Upton 2009 |
