Four and twenty blackbirds baked in summer drone -
it's a pie!
Four and twenty blackbirds baked out of the pit
breathing traces of the mist.
The ring ouzel echoes the flitterchack;
St. Kevin stretches his songs recalling fledgling dreams.
Someone once upon the saint's hand laid its eggs
and twenty blackbirds baked in men's minds.
The warmth of the ouzel cock is the black of my dream:
in the garden eastward of the ring ouzel cock
the ground holds roots of the herb, Belladonna,
where among brown leaves, the blackbird rustles for insects.
I see his crocus-coloured beak flashing through the fog;
blackbird sings before he smiles,
his mate cries before Candlemas.
© GERALD ENGLAND
Composed: Gee Cross, 16th January, 2003
2003 Blackbird (USA)
2004 Worm (Internet)
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