Bird Song

The air is clean,


as if this place

were a city of the dead.


If it were not

for the sounds of birds,

proclaiming the coming

of the morning,

the post-apocalyptic beauty

of this suburban calm,

would hold a sinister promise.


It may still.


Though there is no chaos

in the street,

and the scene is one

of idyllic prosperity;

from my front window,

it is too quiet,

and whispers of fear

punctuate the silence,

in the spaces,

between the songs of the birds.


A new season is coming.

A season of tribulation.

Is this just the calm

before the storm?



HG – 2020

2 thoughts on “Bird Song

  1. Makes me think of W B Yeats (Second Coming) … excellent prose

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