From the startled blue sky, the bird appeared -
Dropping letters into our box. Simple at first:
Just a hullo. The occasional beetle. Antelope fleas.
Caught in jetstreams of air.
Then ahead North, South.
More news -
Drifting artic ice.
Struggles of men, damaged.
Our hopeless dove grew sick of Earth, flew into space -
Into the void, testing its silence.
And with its careful beak,
began extracting problems one by one -
Tugging each earthly difficulty free of its thorny shell,
until all were laid out like tiny worms in our box.
“What do you want us to do?” we rage, ashamed.
“Just sing”, instructed the bird.
So we left tunes.
- Just a note, on a tight day.
The bird wove them into threads
of glorious melody,
and stranded them around the world.
Constructed of hope,
each bright song carried the message
of curing through care.
Fresh bird -
On your return
Find a letter waiting.
‘Dear Bird -
Take our purity to
Build a wiser nest.
Apologise to planet Earth.
Tell her we’re attempting to restore her health…
Tell her we’ve learned our lesson…
That humans have a future
Only when they’ve learned
To share the air.’
Tell her we got it right this time!