BIRDWATCHING

We are birdwatchers
We see the squally showers of crows
When they devour all that moves
Upon the deeply furrowed plough

We watch the skylarks weave their nests
To cradle eggs, before they rise
To the clouds proudly singing.
We look for corncrakes scuttling by

Through a world of golden stalks
Impatient for the sun-drenched stubble
We feel the sun blotted from view
By the stillness of the hawk
Until he drops with deadly speed.

We are birdwatchers.
We do not see the tractor wheels
Nor hear the combine coming near
We are beetles black and small

Sheila McKinnon