We forget that you were once as common as coal; little coal-black bird.
Stumpy, dumpy. The wire-dotter; pylon-swarmer.
Camped out on our ledges and trees, screaming England’s towns down.
Noisy as a classroom on the last day of term.
We forget that you once shimmered through frozen air; ripple bird.
Shape-shifter, dusk-dancer. Murmurer; sky-writer,
Endlessly becoming in the darkening gold: animals, patterns, waves.
And how we, wonder-struck, witnessed your nightly unity against death.
We forget that you stayed true; loyal little bird.
Roof-flocker; aerial-clinger, when the rest up and left.
And how, up close, you carried the constellations in your feathers,
Iridescent purples, greens and blues, the rare hues of petrol on water.
We forget that you were once as common as coal; little coal-black bird.
And that your blackening of our streets and whistling through our chimneystacks,
Your smoke-like swirling in the skies, was an olive branch from heaven.
Yet in the mad pursuit of a spotless life, we believed you plague.
We forget that in loss it’s the little things that leave the largest holes;
And that, all along, you were drawing patterns for us to live by:
Community bird, collaborator, congregator, conversation bird.
You, accepter bird, come-together bird.
Crowd bird. YOLO bird.
The dance-like-no-one’s-watching bird,
Over town and field, city and sea.
Beauty-beyond-compare bird. Modest bird,
Youth bird. Joy bird.
We forget that you were once as common as coal,
And how that makes your scarcity more keenly felt.
And how losing you is devastating,
A hole in our sky and soul.
For it signifies a greater loss in us.
Rob Cowen