###oh, Feathered Friend

A bird sat high up, on a fragile branch, Watching soldiers marching across his land. A sombre fellow, dressed in black, Who could not these moving figures, understand, What were they doing in his calm domain, He thus looked down at them with some disdain. He seemed to emphasize their coming gloom, The terror and the deaths of lads so bold, As if he knew what we could not yet know, How men survived the horror and the cold. This forlorn soul with coat smooth and sleek, Stood chirping from his yellow coloured beak. Oh, feathered friend look not to see them go, For their adventures are not reserved for you. They travel on to things you know not of, Of agony and fear you have no clue. Their world is not your world, they had to go, Along with comrades, off to fight the foe. Copyright: Ernestine Northover