The immigrating birds
Remember the route
For centuries they took
Generation follows generation
The immigrating birds
Remember.
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
Remember
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
Remember
Or sadly
Re-witness?
November 12, 2017
