Evening mist settles over darkening fields,
the trees are alit with golden light.
As the sun sinks to the crimson horizon,
birds to slumber take their flight.
A forlorn pheasant stalks his territory,
his call echoing around the fields.
He knows not where he goes. He is ignorant,
he knows not what fate shall yield.
Too many guns has he heard in a lifetime,
too many feathers has he lost.
Too many mates have been subject to cruelty,
too many chicks succumbed to the frost.
A life he leads of lies and deception,
bred to become a plaything for man.
Only now is he free to stalk across the country,
soon he shall belong to the hunter's hand.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry and Lamentations
PoetrySome poems about nature and serene landscapes. I would call it an anthology. However, some poems are Lamentations so therefore, may be quite despairing and upsetting.
