Feathered Cairn

I thought it was the hunting of the Wren
at close of year

I thought it was the machination of men from fear

of dark and sightless places
unknown to the heart
I thought someone snuffed out
a winged spark

to stay the cold
to part the messenger of old
from some stray god like them
who was earthbound and damned

who called this parliament of birds
laid here

who made this feathered cairn
no bier

give us a penny
to bury them all
quartet of wings
in final fall