The immigrating birds
Remember the route
For centuries they took
Generation follows generation
The immigrating birds

The hole in the ground
As deep as a city
Was dug by dying men
They left graves and crosses
In a field of poppies

As century passes
And all is quiet on the four fronts
As the dying forget to tell
And the story is cut for bedtime
Would the immigrating birds
Or sadly

November 12, 2017

About alaindesade

Novelist, songwriter and philosopher. Has special interest in human relations, evolution of mind, inter-cultural complications, and the concept of God.
This entry was posted in c’est la vie. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s