The Invisible March DHR
Beside a red-wire pen I lean,
Loathing to hear the fuss
Of victims bound in barbed shackles
Squealing 'can you hear us?'
Yet, through thin bars of crying steel
I see a meadow bright,
With a sky of forty northward stars
Lighting such a rare sight:
A thousand hooves, claws and wings
Paired up in two and two,
March as a deaf'ning multitude
Of a grace known by few.
And for miles they line before death
Stored away without key.
Yet under skies no hand can cage,
Their breath may float free
And so I sing; a song of joy
That hovers o'er waters,
And inspires the doves and ravens
Who fly but once fought us.
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