A sad postscript to my post about the midnight blackbird drama. After finding two of the chicks dead yesterday, Finbar found a third one this morning. One had drowned in the rain water butt the two others were just dead, from exhaustion, cold, fear, maybe, but not the cats.The blackbirds have gone, either taking the last chick somewhere safer, or because they have none left.
Build a haven, fragile and ephemeral,
Hunt the bright glint of beetle and worm,
Back and forth, ever on the wing, no time to rest,
No oblivion in sleep, ever-watchful,
For the night hunters prowl.
Ask for little,
For no stark, white winter death,
No spring flood.
Hope for only hunger but not famine,
Give no names, no love, to the open mouths,
Clamouring one day, cold and still the next,
For the task is to be redone while the summer lasts,
Over and again, the feeding and the rearing.
No time to think of death,
No tears to weep, no grieving for so many lost,
For no heart, not even a blackbird’s,
Is strong enough for that.