SHEARWATER

.
They creep along the ancient shore,
With sticks and nets
And other implements of death:
While you have breath
They will torment you,
Gentle bird.

To them you are a means to fame,
An easy way to make a name;
And if you die it's all the same
To them.

Unmoved by love,
There is no limit to what they do:
They kill and maim,
And seek acclaim
By torturing you.

Beyond the crashing surf
Dim swaying lines of foam
Are roaring from your ocean home
And calling you to come.

A myriad swiftly beating wings,
And suddenly the night bird sings;
The air is full of joyous cries
Of the gentle bird they so despise.

A holy place is this,
Amidst the thudding seas,
Where gentle birds have come in peace
For countless centuries.

But now as each bird comes to land,
Grim men grasp with brutal hand
The life they cannot understand,
The simple joy that was not planned
By them.

And later they will write in cold important words
Of the evil things they've done to birds;
And other cruel complacent men
Will praise them.

Darker grows the night,
And darker yet,
And still they murder beauty.

But I have seen them, gentle bird,
And I will not forget.


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Manx Shearwaters are seabirds which nest in colonies, and come to land only at night to lay their eggs and feed their young. They are the subject of experiments by "conservationists".