Where Have All the Birds Gone
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Some say the summer sun,
drove them to the jagged peaks,
where they pressed their feet in snow,
and froze, defeated, swallowed by silence.
Empty skies above,
Hollow fields below—
Who will recall their vanished songs?
Who will cradle their echoes?
Others recall their beaks filled,
with plastics from tainted fields,
like cacti bristling through sand
choking the voices that once soured.
Some saw a trembling mirage.
A pool that shimmered, then dissolved;
their throats dried, their voices shattered,
Their chorales silenced by drought.
Empty skies above,
Hollow fields below—
Who will recall their vanished songs?
who will cradle their echoes?
More birds succumbed to wildfires.
That burned forests to blackened bone.
Their feathers lying singed in the ash.
Their shadows fallen, stilled, and gone.
Yet in the hush of this dawn,
a single feather drifted on the wind.
A faint lamenting chord was heard—
Perhaps the birds may rise again.
Where have all the birds gone?
Long time passing; long time ago.
Empty skies above,
a feather on the breeze—
a faint call in the hollows
Let's pray the muted sing again soon
In the silent spring.
In the silent spring.
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2025
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