Daye 27 / The Birds Of Tin

the birds of tin
we cannot eat
we play with them
they cost us nothing
the birds of tin
municipal
they fly
they float
they wave to us
from far away
they come to rest
perfectly flat medals of innumerable sizes
on the surface of the sea
some are enormously large
some are six feet high
some you can hold
some you can put in your mouth
some slip through your fingers
and there are microscopic tiny birds
in vain we speak to them
in vain we call to them
or entreat them to open their wings
they are affixed to walls
pinned to the sky
attached by screws
tied by chains
the birds of tin
are dead
~ Charles Madge