Birds In A Tree Poem by Michael Buhagiar

A light breeze rustles the leaves; so calm
They sit perched along the weathered arm
Ruffling downs, or suddenly they stab
At some enemy marching sharply within.
All day they will soar to touch the sun
With beating wings, or wild worms grab,
Diving like bullets from a lowered gun.
When sky and land grow one, and flowers
Are sketched in charcoal in the lonely hours,
They will turn to their rooted home and come in.

Through the wide bedroom window I gaze.
The house lights rise to signal the close.
My head lies calm on the arm of my dear.
Soon I must beat up the sun’s hard rays
And dive to plunder whatever grows.
And so, lest in lust I soar too near,
And flare with the sun—and the blind worm prays
For a roar of flame to assail his ear—
I return, when blood lies spilt on the sky,
To my love who would stay when the sun men fly.