Bird As Fish

Deep down in the marshes there
They stir and cry and fly through air
White birds with wings and long black bills.
The mist holds little to the tops of hills

That show themselves around black grass.
Far therein the marshes vast,
Something there that no one knows
That wind it stirs but does not show

What lies in there amongst the reeds
What stirs the birds up in their sleep
Around the pools and muddy tracks
What holds the mist until the last.

That day that passed was sunny, sweet.
With crooked cane like crooked feet
The old man walks with toothless smile
Passed by the water isle to isle.

By his side the poor blind man
Was held strongly by little hand
Attended by his daughter small
Who helped him walk and not to fall.

The air was fresh and blowing cool,
The water looked so full of jewels
As golden light it caught the air
It was not much to bear.

They hear cries near greying trees
A man is sitting on his knees
A darker man holds knife in hand
And shifts his weight on soggy land.

Then without a sign of grace
Blood it covers the low man's face
Spilt all across the soggy mound
And down upon the marsh's ground.

The child she cries now out with fright
And runs away with all her might
The dark man comes with knife he holds
To reach the flailing man there, old.

The blind man tries to save the girl
But she is gone far from the hill.
He reaches to protect his heart
From that sharp, needling dart.

"M'aidez" she cries with frightened sound
To man who's helpless on the ground
Who canst but speak a simple phrase
That he'd remembered from older days

To bring up water, ice, or fire,
Whichever one was his desire
And never turning back again
Would become his allied friend

To help him in his time of need
To never more another heed
He brings up words forgotten long
And rhymes them slow, no tune or song.

Pained he lies up on the hill
His thoughts are only with the girl,
The girl who hides with silent fear
From the evil man out there.

The fog begins in valleys low
And climbs up higher, taller, more.
It climbs in spite of golden sun
And to curse the darker one.

When piles have reached the hilltop peaks
And reached up to the blind man's feet
It stops
And there quite still he lay,

Calling now and once or twice
For little girl who coming might
Help him stand up to his feet
And rescue him from coming sleep.

But still he lies in deeper marsh
Covered now by reed and rush
Overflown by quick white gulls
Who answer him with simple calls:

"Give us back our golden days
The sun it now is only grey.
It's coming now the blanched dawn.
The girl she's gone and long been gone,
Forget her now. You really ought
Only think of misted thoughts
As we do.
As we do.
As we do.

© 2003 All rights reserved MJ Jackson
This article may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the permission of the author.