Bone Unto Dust Poem by James Mills

Cloud, low and white, camouflaged the swift kill,
talons pierced the young bird's heart. They tumbled down,
hunter and prey, a blur of blue and brown
earthbound cousin birds, onto Autumn’s still
gold fields, scattering from the oak’s thin crown

a startled burst of starlings. Blood and gore
mingled with char-black chaff – life to life,
seeding new season’s harvest with old strife-
bone unto dust, flesh to make flesh. Once more
Nature as husband - the perfect housewife.