Before I draw the curtains I observe
A murmuration of starlings over the Buchan fields
Swooping and diving in natural choreography
Do they perform to keep warm?
To outfox predators?
For exercise at dusk
Before turning in for the night?
It's sharp frosted November,
They will roost in the woods
When the fires of sunset die
When I retire beneath the covers
I considerwith gratitude the flight
Of those soaring creatures
Beyond human worries and concerns
Beyond grief, fear, hate
They move in perfect harmony as one
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