|
3 |
Bluebird
|
By: Andrew Datson
(School of Mechanical, Aerospace and Civil Eng.)
Competition Year: 2017 Votes (3) | Comments (0) |
< Previous Next > |
A rain of blood and molten gold form a melancholy haze,
The dying sun’s red light,
Reports the passing of a yet more wintry day,
Furred creatures run for home,
Damp underbrush gives way to a den of mother nature’s hearth,
High on a wing accosted before the warmth of home,
A bluebird fought wind to wrath for the chill wind sought her heart,
The bluebird dark of wing,
The bluebird gold of eye,
O’ the heart strings pulled to hear her sing,
Bluebird… the fairest maiden of the sky,
Within mine bows she rests,
A haven of twisted wood and golden leaves she lies here safe,
Not feeling natures tests,
My vow to hold her far from harm and subject to her faith,
The wraiths of night howl louder,
My limbs played like folly to the storms that swell in secret,
My bluebird thrown from her harbour,
The heart and soul of all my being loved her home and was betrayed by it,
The bluebird warm of heart,
That bluebird fond of trees,
In every dance of flight, hers the leading part,
Bluebird… please come back to me,
I stand still… petrified,
Every breath on my leaves gone, leaving my sails hollow,
The absence of my bluebird,
O’ had I the means my labours ought to form a pyre and into the high winds follow,
As dust none leans on me,
My cracked disfigured stump stands yet, drowned in remorse and regret,
I am consigned to nought but decay and death,
The bluebird dark of wing,
The bluebird gold of eye,
Finds refuge in the cinders for the tree is still the same,
Bluebird… o’ fair maiden of mine,
