The Corvids and the Passerines
Smoke lingers over
Flandrian fields,
Where the last vestige
Of humanity was lain to waste.
And as the grey light creeps,
A fortunate few stir to
Welcome the dawn,
Welcome the dawn.
The corvids gather.
Clarion called and shattered
Branch perched, observing
The death fields below and
Beyond, carrion calls.
The agony of man.
The last cries,
The last cries.
Oh lucky few! Carried
Away on muddied tracks,
Stacked in a horse drawn handcart.
The blurring of presence.
The here, the final moments.
The last gasp of foreign air.
And then the passing,
And then the passing.
Afforded the dignity
And silent reverence
Of freshly dug graves.
Shoulder to shoulder with
Comrades in momentary arms.
And permanent death.
The passerines lament,
The passerines lament.
While back in the battle black
Quagmire that sucked
Life from youthful zest,
A cry - Carry on Corporal!
Recover the wounded,
But leave the dead;
They have time to wait,
They have time to wait.
Now hear the corvids crow
And cackle, and wait the
Retreat of the foolish men
Who fought over a patch of earth.
And fell to lie, torn and still.
Hear the corvids caw,
There is war!
There is war!
The corvids have no shame.
No disgrace, they will pick
At the follied flesh of man.
Is this what man has become?
While the morning birds remain
Song-less and mute, watching
The corvid's carrion,
The corvid's carrion.
How long until the blackbird
Robin, finch and thrush
Join in passerine dawns?
A celebration of a new day,
Born of joy and hope.
How long until
The passerines sing again?
The passerines sing again?
Perhaps when the corvids
Have picked the fields clean
And no trace of man remains
And the poppies have coloured
The fields a remembrance red -
Then the dawn chorus may resume, but for
Now there is no birdsong.
Now there is no birdsong.
Yet, corvids are passerines too
And the clever crow, magpie and raven;
Ah they too sing, as the robin
And song thrush enjoin their
Fellow passerines at break of day
To sing in tribute, but
The corvids sing a different song.
The corvids sing a different song.
A clarion,
Carrion call.
A great poem rich in vivid imagery and feelings.