Augury Poem by Richard George
Augury
Gulls, I thought first; but they don't
skein like the grey-shirt bully-boys,
and these wings, ragged-edged
as sails the morning after Trafalgar
challenged Audubon. As though in Rome
I grappled with ignorant
geometries of flight-path
for the words to describe the future,
the innocence of a plague
across steppe, snow and sea that kills its messenger.
The bird of death is a no-bird.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/26/2024 1:26:19 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Beuatiful imagery in this.