Refuge of the Song Thrushes - Aindre Reece-Sheerin

Here we lay wings splayed, no longer Gossamer wings for we are laid flat side by side as once did we glide, and soar skywards like a glissando our speckles of brown, and

orange and gold, and the songs, oh the songs we sang of old, stories never to be told, the things we have seen, the places we have been
The sights below, hues of red blue and green.

Our refuge from the storm became our tomb.
The shrill of the wind was our Marche Funèbre
and huddled tightly, together in the foliage of the old Cypresses Leylandi, as she tried but in

vain, to hold and to hold again and again and again, but alas did she too succumb to the ravages of the storm and without malice or will, crush us together as when in life together

we sang but no more our unique song will be heard, no more will our colours flash, the worms now escaping and will continue to be the earth’s ploughs but as sure as there is a

spring, new Song Thrushes will sit on new branches and Sing and Sing and Sing

Aindre Reece-Sheerin