The
city sighs smoke and soot
The
boughs bend on melancholy weight
Fog
thickens in the foliage grim
And
I sulk on my lonely perch.
Smoke
hangs on my dreams
Like
dirty rags on the line.
Left
behind by the migrating mates
I
sit, nursing my wounded wing.
The
roads smell of decaying mire
The
gutters run with spittle and stool
I
do not want to flutter around
In
the depressive autumn filth.
Where
the meadows are ever green
Where
the sunshine is molten gold
Where
the fields are ripe for harvest
Where
my mates sing and prance
Where
the song of my loved one
Rise
in the moon-lit nights,
Where
my young ones sweet
Ride
the bovine backs and tweet:
To
those memories my heart aches
And
from restless broodings I wake
To
the bland feelings of twilight air.
When
the dark clouds shroud the horizon
My
expectations fall like autumn leaves
To
be stirred round and around
By
the north-wester winds
Scribbled
when left alone in the great city
