Poetry

Thursday, 3 December 2020

Hawk Talk

 Well it needed to happen, that is for sure

The eagle has flown

But there's blood at his door

And as he does roam

There's the rub I am poor

But rich to have a home in The old Silvermore


The kestrel flew down to my hand

But quickly I saw he was a friend

And we talked like two hawks

Of life and our work 

As we walked out over paths wend


And the places we knew were many

In the hearts chapters we dropped a penny

Down the well of memory

To hear it echo what you meant to me

And I can hear your voice still

Ringing through the years


And she flew like a siren call

Like a screech through blood boiling skies

And it took a wrecking ball

To knock down all the cloud castles where I lie


And if there is some bird I must let fly

It is that of your ghost

Feather bed where I lie

Make a nest for my last post


But I cannot accept that I quit

Through this artificial bull shit

For Brexit is a lie, the truth is goodbye

Is hardest to say when you really mean it

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