We live in a world of spirits
not of ours, but of theirs
Eons of ethereal packs and flocks
that have watched the world pass in silent majesty
How many vibrant dawns
how many star dusted nights
seen by eyes with no human tongue
Old and worn, beautiful, he lay here
in the soft grass
and watched his brothers, sisters, children
move on
the spotted coats of the young
fading into the marshland
Once proud, once strong
once witness and one with life itself.
Now watching the clouds passing
in the blue sky overhead
The cicadic whine
The wind through the leaves
The birdsong as the sun rises
in red grandeur
All fading, fading
until the breath becomes one with the wind,
the pulse one with the song
The whisper of life passing
marked only by it's absence
and the stillness of a sleek, brown chest
I weep for you
and a life passed in quiet beauty
the coming of spring
the silence of winter
and the stars shooting across the night sky
Slip free of your tired shell
and join your ancestral herd
passing though the tall grass in silent grace.
