Stonewrapped in Marble
You were one of the original hoodies,
peripheral, isolated on the edge,
cowled and stigmatised as they said
you were for the birds.
Yet you kept chirping away,
scattering crumbs of comfort as they pecked
at your stone-wall countenance
and made you blind.
But there was no poverty of sound,
the rustling of the winds habit as it
brushed past the trees was echoed
by the rattle of the corn
broadcasting their message.
But who listens to nature now,
when the only tweets come from a mocking bird?
We sow the seeds of our decline with every concrete footing
that falls on an abandoned nest.
In our desire to travel from here to there
we forget the journey.