Cwm yr Eglwys
There will come a moment
when the birds stop singing.
For now, they are loud, shrill,
begging the sun to shine.
While there is light,
they keep catching flies,
but when dusk turns,
something dies.
Their songs are scattered gems,
they’ve lost the tightness of morning,
excitement dissolves into panic
as blackness haunts.
When light is finally taken,
there is silence from the treetops
all silhouettes are lost
to the night.