O speckled thrush
so cold, so stiff, so dead!
Your flame extinguished
a faded silhouette
a fly-blown curiosity
No glimmer of light
from your half-moon eye.
Stark contrast
to that sparkling beaded lace
an ethereal throw over nature's bed
A sticky, intricate snare
where Death awaits
upon his secret tight rope
Wraps his victims tenderly in silk
then sucks out all life
leaves just an empty husk.
Is this your fate
O speckled thrush
as you "push up the daisies?"
Heavens no!
You are surrounded by
innocent 'Christ-children'*
damp with early morning tears
mourning your death
yet rejoicing in the dawning
of a new day ...
And look ... O look!
A tulip cup
ablaze with glory
Herald of spring and all
dappled, variegated things
toasts the heavens
feasts upon the rising sun
Shouts out its certainty -
Your death, speckled thrush
Is Nature's celebration
A new beginning ...
You have fulfilled your role
your purpose on earth
In God's eternal, circle of life.
Images by Niki
* Daisies are known as 'Christ children' - with their innocence and purity and the word itself is Old English for 'day's eye' - referring to the beginning of each day, illustrated by the daisy closing its petals in the evening, and the first to open at dawn to greet the day. It also has its debut in the spring.