Monday, 21 July 2014


Inert, they lie
Neither sleeping
Nor waking
Neither dying
Nor living
In the greasy
English sun
By their cages
Gazing emptily
Through half lidded
Limpid amber eyes
At the melee
Inured to
The shrieks
Of the wildlife
Around them
Robbed of their
Magic, won
Over centuries
In distant
Desert lands
Once glorious
Now lifeless
Once proud
Made mute
And revealed
To an eye
Without wonder
Once thrilled
Now saddened
To find
The wretched truth

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