Birds



With my child that could not sleep

buttoned up inside my coat;

with her fleece hair warm under my chin,

I stepped between the twilight stars,

over the silent village,

coming to earth at the top of the hill

and taking the lane to meet the dawn.


As from its shrouds the sun arises,

the eye of an eagle with coloured wings,

I walk on down the path still dark;

the tops of the hedges against the light

are like stained glass windows,

and we stop where we find,

made of posts and barbed wire,

a broken cross and a fallen crown.


With my child who could not sleep

buttoned up warm inside my coat;

with her aureole hair laid on my neck,

I go treading on the feathers of the sky,

as the firebird of daybreak

becomes the snowy owl of morning,

and will spread her white wings around us,

’till they touch in the west

and we come home to our nest.