Islands in the channel

 The gulls are curbing the cold salty air

Beyond and above the house they glide

Confrontational wilful against the wind

A dark tan fence runs along the garden perimeter

Beyond it is the wild

The rabbit plane of rocks and burrows

And again to the west are the abandoned buildings

Decaying hospital ruins, the end walls of Nissan huts

Left over from the war

And the gulls keep these only

Except perhaps some ghosts of the cholera

Who must have died there

And hundreds of years before

St Caddock lived here, in its deep peace

 

I go swimming in the little bay of a morning

It is fresh and cold to leap in at first

From off the jetty

The inexorable tide rolls on and pulls in undercurrents

The shifting vortices beneath my feet

I made the mistake once of going through an arch way called castle rock

Which lead me into open water

Immediately the tidal force of the eddying channel tried to pull me out

I had to hang onto the rock for dear life

And it took all my strength to pull myself back in

And Swim to the shore

The monks who lived here all drowned once when visting neighbouring Steep Holm

The island is safety

A haven in the stream of the sea

The torrent of the water which rushes past spells out doom

To any swimmer or boat not strong enough to fight the tide

Back on the island

Gulls swamp the colony

In voices of communal caterwauling

And intoxicating alarms and panics are set off

At intruders, a visiting buzzard, a peregrine hunting rabbit

They are hounded and harrowed by the gulls

A gull that has eaten a baddie from the mainland dump

Is suffering botulism and is dying, the others harangue it

In gangs take pieces out of the weary bird

There is no mercy and nothing is spared

Weakness is despised by their vicious natures

 

We walk through their nesting colony on daily walks

And they hound us and swoop down, screeching like witches

Shitting their foul substances onto our cloaked heads and backs

Like vast covens of these pre-pagan, primordial beings

Left to their own devices for years on end before mainlanders rediscovered the island

They feel certain rights and privileges over their conquered territory

Especially that over humans, from our waste they feed, but want nothing more

From us.

It is enough they eye us with their harsh cold fish eyes

 Like hooks, each adopts a manful posture of chest out

And their stride about the path we walk just in front dares our confrontation

They are hard

Fishermen, sailors not respecters of land lubbers or those

Who cannot show aerial skill, which they do

Like crosses in the sky, no matter how hard a gale they take off

Like spitfires in the war

Brave as iron, steadying the eddies of wind over their trembling wing

Until that incredible scything moment of aerodynamic equilibrium

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Castle Rock 1 / Western coast

 Slipping off the ring of the horizon

A new dawn breaks with the sun’s rising

Ringed by land

Like a bride’s finger

Turned around a golden band

The lipless ruff  

   

Where are my hands

Upon whose back do they fall?

The land as a lady’s side in profile

Dimples, breasts caverns measureless to man that call

And the Rock giant of flat Holm

Has touched them all

But they wore him down that knowledge

Too much wisdom has led to his destruction

Fog Horn Station 1

 The vigil kept by Fog Horn’s people

Daily, nightly they go out

To worship in the weather’s steeple

And trace the veins of the clouds

Like an atlas, a weather map of the skies

And if by mishap, or kismet

The conditions combine

Temperature, humidity, wind direction, tides

To create that fog belt, that blanket

These souls so devout to their religion

Express their faith and reveal their vision

So that others may see though with blinded eyes

And as if a miracle had occurred those who were lost are found

Those who were blind can see with their ears

Hear through the mouths that tiredly yawn

A benediction and blessing that horn sound

As clear as the Sun’s first rays through the darkness before dawn

Last Poem of Flat Holm Island

 She with her cloves so black

She bitter crow, tooth by claw

The rattling steam cooker

Boiling the red hot hob

Hobbling as horses hooves

Clattering shore

 

Those steely stolen feet of stone

Clabbered the pebble dash dawn

Sorted in the graves

Of fish, rolling out the crease of sea

Ironing flat the deep

 

The bees of sleep have sung and hum

The waxwork town of men

All fixed are they

Henna brushed the tattoo lanes

Which wild willows blow

Shutters sound of shop door bells

Cling, clang ring of moneyed tills

Billowed bills and dollared dills

That faintly smell of sea sprayed sills

And that joyful, lawful wind

Which judges not least itself be judged

Just moronically mows down the morrow in moans

Dredges cats from alleys in calls from bins

Winds dogs barks around lamp posts

Their authors and owners

Trailing as cod fish on a leash

Clasping gawp gobbling as turkeys at the goblet air

Of homespun hamlets and heavy Irish hair

Just blandishments of bandicoots

And boron rods of care

In the cooker of his dreams

And machinations of a mind’s lair

 

Just hag the egg men

And hog the sea weed

Dredge the cock spurs from out the chicken feed

Chafe the chaffinch and fetch the Magpie

Palaeolithic the mega myth before I die

Follow the saintly swan too all white bread

The skatey scanty sea of scurvy hunger

And weevil whales that bore through

The biscuit of the big belly jelly deep

As leviathanic gloves that slip the silky thin night

From the dread grey sea

The shimmering shining sun as a smoky fish house glade

  Hung up to dry in a witch watchful sky

The sun is Gaol and Heights goosing by

The chimney pot pig sties

And roofs of ribbon rotted warmth that ties

All of death’s cold down to earth

Buteo

Buteo, Buteo

Wherefore art thou Buteo?

On what holy wooded hedge

Where you make our hooded ledge

And wherefore do you fly?

Forever a convict of the sky

And conviction yes

More is the less

As with auspices make your pledge

Your blood bond to swear by

Vow your vows

Bow your heads

Here comes the vouchsafe

Of your lives

Give money, give roses, poses of heather

Black is the beak, brown is the feather

The air in some torpid atmosphere

Breaks like breakers of a wild sea

Snapping like a belt of leather

Sends up vapours

On whose thermals see thee

Oh how grubby are the praying hands

When they come together

Beneath wedding bands

And marriage yet between

Sky and land

Though thou art unknowable times of sand

For where do you come from?

Who is your mother?

Thy father is every falcon

Every hunter back to the age of man

But how many mothers can

Give birth to your skill

Your art is the destroyer

How learnt thou to kill?

Who taught you? Treacherous sky and wind

Tempest belly was thy womb

But land that keeps your harboured pledge

Vouchsafe in him

Your meat and bread

Father provider to a son born of the air

Always crossing the sun

But what cares the sun for poor Buteo Buteo?

He is forever a traveller

In search of his carrion loot

In search of dead gold

When the sun is treasure chest

Enough for this pirate

Who sails blue pastures

What more wealth can be searched for?

When wisdom is the treasure the sun has in store

And he but transmuted

The vessel of nature’s law

Sign giver and guide all those

Who worship him and him adore

Yet his auspice given, rewards

Neither love nor hate

But like the majesty of heaven

Reigns down equal upon those from His pearly gate

Questions Where AM I?

 On what enlightened bay

Do the tides of time descend?

On how sweet an afternoon

Of light astray

Can the scarlet pimpernel festoon?

Where do the oysters catch?

And where do the gulls loom?

In the fasted Lapis sky

Beneath the hay making sun

How does the bracken grow?

How weaves the stinging nettle?

Through what thistle do the finches whistle?

Or over what cliff is heard

The peregrines steaming, screaming kettle

How comes it that I am here?

For to tell what enters mine ear?

And why for do the black birds mew?

Or the crow caw, caw

Or why do the rabbits run, lapis lapidary

Lapin lapping the blue from the sky

The yellow from the chicken sun

The silver from the harvest moon

The white from the clouds undone

How comes it the temperate chain lies unbroken?

The wind to cool, the sun to heat

How is it that words left unspoken?

Best describe this nature’s beat

Ode to a Buzzard

Oh Buzzard

Harbinger of death

Augury man above

On your miracle, spiracle of breath

What did the Roman’s make of you?

You man of War, of ides

The soothsayers look up to see you crossing the sun

Of their dark days

Skull as a battle warriors helmet, visor down

Omen days

Buteo, buteo

Occipital holes, below heavy brows

Beyond is the world

Within the oracle of her mind

The subuteo men go walking beneath

And she is like a goddess

Who holds their belief

Come visit this isle of the dead

A suitable repose

To make your hunting ground

And roses’ bed

You are always above roses and poppies

Scavenger, scanner

Of starvation’s horizon

The hunger circumference of your vision

Which fades with the sunset

And its ring is set by the stone

Of the moon.

Ode to a Peregrine

 Forward, forward all ye sea cannons.

All ye barrages of the swell

Here I stand in my cliff cabin

Knowing ye intruders well

Forward, forward screech

Ye of impossible reach

The scream of alarm into your soul

So schooled in the art of the fooled,

I am a witch on a broom

A thoroughbred racing down a fell

I am an instant in your time

I wear the disguise of death,

My hues and clothes demark me well

I am your first and last breath

Peregrine am I,

The Lord of the sky

The high Sultan of the Salty Perch

In my crow’s nest

I am scarecrow, caw, caw

Black the congregation of my high church

Fall in ye gulls, ye gabbling ranks

Commoners take turns to fish the sea with thanks

I thank not the gel,

Nor its green brown pell-mell

I am as quick as honey, I smell with my flanks

These eves of rocks I chose for the view

Those shore leave in the docks show

Where my shadow sheaves

And time me on clocks

I make landfall before Eve

May pluck an apple for Adam

And let it fall from her sleeve

Hunting a pigeon on the wing

It is a smidgeon of a thing

For what I enjoy

Is to play with this toy

As a train racing track

When I attack

I smother and sting

With Talon and Beak

I rend skin from wing

Then back to the nest

I deliver the rest

I am the postman with the fastest letter

I am the messenger king

The carrier of carrion

The bringer of tides

Don’t shoot the messenger if you dislike what he brings

Whether evil tidings

Or indiscernible things

The message did not return one evening

The bird was not heard

The vital war time correspondence

Fell silent in my mouth

Yet its secret I kept safe

For I did not speak a word

The day we went to catch the whale

Oh the ropes were singing in our hands

The soap suds were a rubbing

Upon the decks with our arms and hands

The planks and boards a scrubbing

Gleaming were the gunwales

Taught strung our bright sails

On that morning it was all aboard

The day we went to catch a whale

Oh laddie, bet your britches daddy

Get harpoon and fork or spoon

We're off to land a baddy

Oh Mammy, you sent him off your Sammy

Now he's aboard with a scope and swore he spied a tail

The day we went to catch the whale

As we put out the salty locks

Of seaweed slapped our faces

The flow tide from the Bristol docks

Put us through our paces

Then just between Flatholm and Steepholm

We saw the spraying traces

Of Whale flukes like Royal Dukes

Off to see the races

Oh laddie, bet your britches daddy

Get harpoon and fork or spoon

We're off to land a baddy

Oh Mammy, you sent him off your sonny

Now he's aboard with a scope and swore he spied a tail

We'll never got bored as the seagulls soared

The day we went to catch the whale

As we approached the whales broached

A certain conversation

They gave forth their spume and froth

Like every whale nation

But our boats answered back in a likewise forthright manner

And towed the line of harpoon twine

And rowed out to meet them tongs and hammer

Oh laddie, bet your britches daddy

Get harpoon and fork or spoon we're off to land a baddy

Upon the deck we craned our necks to be first to spy a tail

It all was all aboard, then sally forth

the day we went to catch a whale

The first mate threw his harpoon screw

And it skewered itself in

The Right whale's side but he couldn't abide

The whaleman's avaricious grin

The whale came in, the whale went out

It dove down and pulled us about

The whale went out and it came back in

The day we went to catch a whale

Back and forth the whale fought

In and out the harbour

Never better a whale man's sport

Than for something he must labour

Coming round the headland coming up the leas

We were nearly in Newfoundland

By the time he began to wheeze

Down he dove like a Jove

Then like a Jupiter ascending

He came back up and stove-in

our hull as if to him offending

The captain hopped upon his toes

The first mate danced a jig

To think of all the damaged blows

done to his precious rig

But the devilish whale never left the water

so we never did the tonguing and slaughter

But he beat his tail like a gale 

The day we went to catch a whale

Oh laddie, bet your britches daddy

Get harpoon and fork or spoon

We're off to land a baddy

Oh Mammy, you sent him off your Sammy

Now he's aboard with a scope and swore he spied a tail

We'll never get bored as the seagulls soared

The day we went to catch the whale

He towed us back to Bristol docks

And round the rocks of Portishead

In ebb tide we nearly died upon the estuary bed

But the flood of new blood lifted us from our slumber

The whale now freed from seaweed towed on his lumber

Upon the pier, a crowd appeared to cheer us on our return

Seeing our sorry manner they took down their banner to burn

The whales eye did seem to spy our state of poor appraisal

And enjoyed how he had toyed with us by his fierce assail

But his was a tale of a fluke not a fail, for safe back home we'd sailed

And no one railed but drank deep his ale

They day we went to catch the whale

Oh laddie, bet your britches daddy

Get harpoon and fork or spoon

We're off to land a baddy

Oh Mammy, you sent him off your Sammy

Now he's aboard with a scope and swore he spied a tail

We'll never get bored as the seagulls soared

The day we went to catch the whale

The story of two monks

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the pages would dry

Well now brother my heart rests on the book that you have left behind

Put your vest back on, take up your oars go back for my book you must find

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the sea gulls would cry

Oh father Cadoc how could I ever

Have forgotten the book of your pride

Just don't make me go out on the water

I am exhausted and the sunlight has nearly died

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the mages would sigh

Now then Baruc you will serve your master?

Make your way down to the water side

There is still light and you can avoid disaster

Return to me my book, before the ink on my page has dried

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the pages would fly

And he left his quill in the ink well

And in the quill the ink did rise

And when his pen was full he put its tip to paper

And he continued to write his next lines

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But you must read between the lines

And so Baruc went back out on the water

In his sweat and the tears that he cried

For he was more than wet from the river

And with a shiver set back out on the tide

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But you must read between the lines

And brother Baruc went into the water

He pushed his boat out into the tide

And he fought the storm that ravaged each quarter

And he fought the thought that he might surely die

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the soothsayers would sigh

Oh master, my master, why have you forsaken me

These 8 miles I row for your pride

I pray to God the sea serpents won't awaken seas

And drag me down where the river bed lies

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But by the morning the wagers would lie

After many long hours of rowing his river boat reached Flatholm's side

And he staggered up to the hermit's hovel and returned with a book in his hand

Oh curse this old book and its pages, I curse this book of his pride

And he thirst for water for ages, but he set out in his boat for Barry's land

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the driftwood would dry

And the darkness drifted all around him

The moon was beginning to hide

Yet his oars kissed the waves that would not drown him

Except for the cursed book by his side

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

And in the morning his mother would cry

And upon the horizon a white squall was gathering

Then lightning split and he was swallowed inside

The blown sea fog, and wind waves were lathering

That whipped up the sea's grog to infernal chide

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the sages would cry

In a sudden swell the book fell far into the stern

And Baruc reached down to gather it

But the sea dogs wave did slather and spit

And in a snarling bite snatched away his free oar

And as he hugged Cadoc's book to his chest

His boat was rocked and spun asunder

In the thrashing maelstrom and thunder

And overturned the book went under

But bobbed up on the otherside

Oh father, father your book was harder

To hook than my journey to paradise

And I lose faith that in my task I am a failure

But in my heart I know God must be on my side

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But the notes in the margins would dry

And Baruc clung to the keel, with Cadog's book his achilles heel

And he could begin to feel numb cold seeping into his limbs

And through the outrageous winds he held the book fast

And fastened it with bowline strings to the hull

But time and tide wait for no man, 

And soon seawater had filled his lungs by the brimful 

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the gulls would cry

While Baruc was drowning, Cadog was frowning

The wind was blowing a gale outside

But he kept on writing, with his candle flame fighting

The storms breath breathing as his ink it dried

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But in the morning the wreckages would testify

When finally the dawn broke in the morning

St Cadog saw Baruc's body afloat on the tide

And he went down to see the ship wreck, the flotsam and jetsam

He said a prayer, salvaged his book and then went back inside

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But by the morning the pages would dry

Baruc's body was buried in a tomb on Barry island

And St Cadog went back to his hermitage on the Flatholm side

And as Cadoc read his tombe on Flatholm island

He thought the only thing that's true was that the Word had never died

They said he was book bound,

And that he was bound to die

They said he was book bound

But now ink on the pages has dried

Art Book Launch in Arnolfini April 2015

http://flatholmsociety.org.uk/event/flat-holm-artists-book-launch-and-reading/

Above is a link to the Flat Holm page that refences our book launch. Please follow the link to find out where and when in April 2015 Flat Holm Book will be launched. Thanks

Flat Holm

https://www.pinterest.com/o7To/flat-holm-ottographic-artists-book/
The link above concerns the book on Flat Holm
www.ottographic.co.uk
This link is to Otto's website his Art books including how to order a copy of the Flat Holm Book.
After spending afive months on Flat Holm island I collaborated with the graphic screen print artist Otto to make a book about the place. It contains my word and his pictures if you are interested and they really are very nice pictures and not bad words then go to the link above and order yourself a copy or at least take a look at the samples thanks.

https://flatholmisland.wordpress.com/2013/04/19/a-poem-by-philip-gross/

Above is a link to the Flat Holm word press blog, follow it to find out more interesting news about the island

Nature Poems - Birds

Birds BTO

Poems about Flat Holm Birds

Ode to a Buzzard

Oh Buzzard

Harbinger of death

Augury man above

On your miracle, spiracle of breath

What did the Roman’s make of you?

You man of War, of ides

The soothsayers look up to see you crossing the sun

Of their dark days

Skull as a battle warriors helmet, visor down

Omen days

Buteo, buteo

Occipital holes, below heavy brows

Beyond is the world

Within the oracle of her mind

The subuteo men go walking beneath

And she is like a goddess

Who holds their belief

Come visit this isle of the dead

A suitable repose

To make your hunting ground

And roses’ bed

You are always above roses and poppies

Scavenger, scanner

Of starvation’s horizon

The hunger circumference of your vision

Which fades with the sunset

And its ring is set by the stone

Of the moon.

Ode to a Peregrine

Forward, forward all ye sea cannons.

All ye barrages of the swell

Here I stand in my cliff cabin

Knowing ye intruders well

Forward, forward screech

Ye of impossible reach

The scream of alarm into your soul

So schooled in the art of the fooled,

I am a witch on a broom

A thorough bred racing down a fell

I am an instant in your time

I wear the disguise of death,

My hues and clothes demark me well

I am your first and last breath

Peregrine am I,

The Lord of the sky

The high Sultan of the Salty Perch

In my crow’s nest

I am scare crow, caw, caw

Black the congregation of my high church

Fall in ye gulls, ye gabbling ranks

Commoners take turns to fish the sea with thanks

I thank not the gel,

Nor its green brown pell-mell

I am as quick as honey, I smell with my flanks

These eves of rocks I chose for the view

Those shore leave in the docks show

Where my shadow sheaves

And time me on clocks

I make land fall before Eve

May pluck an apple for Adam

And let it fall from her sleeve

Hunting a pigeon on the wing

It is a smidgeon of a thing

For what I enjoy

Is to play with this toy

As a train racing track

When I attack

I smother and sting

With Talon and Beak

I rend skin from wing

Then back to the nest

I deliver the rest

I am the postman with the fastest letter

I am the messenger king

The carrier of carrion

The bringer of tides

Don’t shoot the messenger if you dislike what he brings

Whether evil tidings

Or indiscernible things

The message did not return one evening

The bird was not heard

The vital war time correspondence

Fell silent in my mouth

Yet its secret I kept safe

For I did not speak a word

Questions Where AM I?

On what enlightened bay

Do the tides of time descend?

On how sweet an afternoon

Of light astray

Can the scarlet pimpernel festoon?

Where do the oysters catch?

And where do the gulls loom?

In the fasted Lapis sky

Beneath the hay making sun

How does the bracken grow?

How weaves the stinging nettle?

Through what thistle do the finches whistle?

Or over what cliff is heard

The peregrines steaming, screaming kettle

How comes it that I am here?

For to tell what enters mine ear?

And why for do the black birds mew?

Or the crow caw, caw

Or why do the rabbits run, lapis lapidary

Lapin lapping the blue from the sky

The yellow from the chicken sun

The silver from the harvest moon

The white from the clouds undone

How comes it the temperate chain lies unbroken?

The wind to cool, the sun to heat

How is it that words left unspoken?

Best describe this nature’s beat

Birding

Can you catch an oyster with an oyster catcher?

Or shank a red, redshank

Can you shell the shell of a shell duck?

Or dun a Dunnock to his bank

And are you the one to witness the whim of a Whimbrel?

Or take cool turns with an Arctic Tern

Oh please tell me what Birding is in the end all about

Will you buzz a buzzard out on a panel show of ornithological knowledge?

To be cock of the walk, rank high in the pecking order of chickens in the run

While the sun is out

Will you gan at a Gannet, like you may gander a goose

Or might you take a puff at a puffin

Before with a sly smile turn him loose?

Might you throw a wad at a wader

Or take a snipe at a snipe

With your lens he is in the eye of the beholder

But do you see an eye for an eye

Or a tooth for a tooth

Can you turn over every stone in your search for a Turnstone?

Will you turn tail and run from a gull

Or gull at him back through the clear light of truth

May you lessen his black back?

Simply by painting him grey like the weather

Or fledge a fletch of his juvenile feathers

In the arrows of a Robin’s Hood

To hoodwink a Starling who sparred with a Sparrow

Tell me kindly if you’ve understood

Did you put the black bird down in your little black book?

Or put down the lark as a clown with a stern black look?

Did you flinch at a finch when he came around?

Was it you who took the voice from the mute swan?

Do any of you really have a choice in your wan?

Or like the grey goose do your clothes have some use?

You may hide in your hides, ride down your rides

Or follow the moth and the fly

For an insect is a gift to the very fast swift

As a wood pigeon is

To the peregrine or the Lord of the Sky

And not forgetting the crow

Who you too well may know

For his corvidian cousin the Raven

Has driven you stark raving Mad

With his gang of dark vandals

Who are no strangers to scandals

In amongst the nests and eggs of the coot

And should you hold a full suit

Or a good gambit of feathery friends in your hand

Please keep them safe and

Sound advice is this :You may remember it is best

To believe you are blest

And unlike the cuckoo who intrudes on a nest

For the others eggs out he will push

But know without doubt

Your life is not worth a short snout

For a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush

Dead Gulls

 Dead gulls on coal beach

Black lulls the green sea’s reach

Spreading fingers through

Pebbles beneath

Lifting their bodies in tow

Their bodies are flung

Down to the gems in the sand

Where sea nymphs stove treasure

And fairies make foam cakes

And they carry the sleeping birds escort

Out to sea

To the watery grave to sleep

With the tides eternal deep

Buteo

Buteo, Buteo

Where for art thou Buteo?

On what holy wooded hedge

Where you make our hooded ledge

And wherefore do you fly?

Forever a convict of the sky

And conviction yes

More is the less

As with auspices make your pledge

Your blood bond to swear by

Vow your vows

Bow your heads

Here comes the vouchsafe

Of your lives

Give money, give roses, poses of heather

Black is the beak, brown is the feather

The air in some torpid atmosphere

Breaks like breakers of a wild sea

Snapping like a belt of leather

Sends up vapours

On whose thermals see thee

Oh how grubby are the praying hands

When they come together

Beneath wedding bands

And marriage yet between

Sky and land

Though thou art unknowable times of sand

For where do you come from?

Who is your mother?

Thy father is every falcon

Every hunter back to the age of man

But how many mothers can

Give birth to your skill

Your art is the destroyer

How learnt thou to kill?

Who taught you? Treacherous sky and wind

Tempest belly was thy womb

But land that keeps your harboured pledge

Vouchsafe in him

Your meat and bread

Father provider to a son born of the air

Always crossing the sun

But what cares the sun for poor Buteo Buteo?

He is forever a traveller

In search of his carrion loot

In search of dead gold

When the sun is treasure chest

Enough for this pirate

Who sails blue pastures

What more wealth can be searched for?

When wisdom is the treasure the sun has in store

And he but transmuted

The vessel of nature’s law

Sign giver and guide all those

Who worship him and him adore

Yet his auspice given, rewards

Neither love nor hate

But like the majesty of heaven

Reigns down equal upon those from His pearly gate