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Where Do They Go
You see them everywhere,
sometimes countless in number,
winged, walking or wading,
running the gauntlet of waves,
filling the air.
Birds populate the planet,
make their home in trees,
buildings, on grassy paddocks,
icy continents and clinging
to the craggy heights of cliffs.
So many. But where do they go
to die. We see only a few
as roadkill or the odd one
decomposing under a bush.
Where are the others?. Surely
death should be more visible
in their ranks, parklands dotted
with those that have fallen dead
from the sky or a branch. More
washed up on a beach.
You would think their remains
would be everywhere
in plain sight. But no.
It's as if the dead slip through
a portal and into the unseen,
leaving no trace. Or maybe
the earth simply claims
and disposes of them
in haste out of respect.
Or do they find somewhere
inaccessible, hidden from view,
a place to pass away
and leave the human mind
to wonder why
the bodies of the avian dead
seem to number so few.
Copyright ©
Paul Willason
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