Look at the birds.
Learn to listen to their chatter,
Their flitting, twittering flights for no
Discernible purpose; the clatter
And the cawing of that black crow,
The furtive, dry-leaved peck and scrape
Of blackbirds blundering in a bush
Seeking worms and beetles; the shape
Of the wagtail’s wing; the shove and push
Of tits among the bacon rinds;
The eerie, invisible knock,
Knock knock as a woodpecker finds
A bark grub; the wheeling starling flock.
Look at the birds.
Look at the earth.
Scoop up a handful in your palm.
Not for nothing have men plundered,
Murdered, fought and wrought great harm
Among their kind — whole empires sundered —
Just to own it, or to believe
They did. Crumble it. What’s it worth?
Ask a farmer stooping to sheave
A field of sun ripe wheat. The Earth!
The land! Listen, listen to me!
The blood of kings lies in your hand,
What came before— and what shall be.
Think on it. Seek to understand.
Look at the earth.
Look at the sky.
An emptiness? The blue-walled womb
Of all that is, of all that ever
Grazed or grew or swam — and met its doom —
Beneath our tyrant sun. Forever
Heaving, blowing, sleeting, snowing,
Raining, resting — bringing with the night
Its velvet, eerie canvas, glowing
With long dead messengers of light.
And yet, who looks— with wit to see?
Should you take long enough to chart
This wheel of time and mystery
Life’s miracle will swamp your heart.
Look at the sky.
You’re bored, child?
–wrote Felix Dennis
