Spring 1943
written by: hedgehog
The days around the vernal equinox 1943
So depressingly terrible, but so stunningly beautiful
What a contradiction bombs and bullets, birds and butterflies
Life, death, and rebirth all around us
The smallest thing seems to have the greatest significance
Like a child’s handful of moss holding a Goldcrest
Neck broken against the window pane
As the Druids say his spirit belongs to the sun now
Was his fiery-head plumage the ideal sacrifice to spring?
His vivid brightness shone heavenly even in death
As gone away in the morning light
The German bombers are out of sight
We’ve had a quiet time of late as winter gave way to spring
The gunnery teams ever ready stand down wearily
Kit bags in hand ready for the first brew of the day
They retire to their homes to be ready again at last light
All around the gun emplacements spring flowers bloom
A myriad of colour brilliant in their own right
Stumbling out of hibernation in their trance of death
Are the butterflies of woods and meadow
The wings of the butterflies are quite stunning
Enigmatic eye masks of the peacock butterfly
On sumptuous purple wings flashing so spectacularly
In the bright sunlight, a comma finds a warm stick
Wings closed, silver grey with mystic markings
They flick open, sculpted, comma cut wings
With coppery orange flashes as they catch the sunlight
With coppery orange flashes of the Ack-ack guns
As the bombers fly above to cause such devastation
These are the moments when nature and war meet
Even on the softest and hardest of wings
- Spring - April 28, 2020
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