by SaraDee

Restless, nestless bird,

Whirring and churring
In nocturnal activity. 
A night-raven,
Hawking for food,
Over moon-lit fields,
Silhouetting their prey
Against the night sky
Iridescent Devil's Needles
And Death's Head Moths,
Suckling milk 
From the teats of nanny-goats,
Leaving them blind 
And dry. 
Stealing through the night sky
In silent flight,
Wings like fallen leaves,
This corpse fowl,
It is said,
Carries the souls
Of unblessed children,
His song, mistaken
For witches in thickets
Risting our fates
On broken bones. 
And at the darkest point
Before the dawn
Under a black waxing moon
His mate lays their eggs
Onto the cold night soil
As fragile as iris petals,
Exposed to the elements,
Laid bare for predators,
They take their chance,
Sink into torpor
And wait for summer's end. 



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