Fallen from Grace
By Keith Vagg
Today I saw a lyrebird,
Magnificent, supreme.
I listened to its music
Like a sweet, fulfilling dream.
As it played in filtered sunlight
On a mossy forest bed
With a fine array of feathers
Proudly held above its head.
When the sound of loud machinery
Cut through me like a knife
And this small and gentle creature
Was so frightened for its life:
The softly lilting music
Changed into a sharp alarm
And it flew off through the forest
Fleeing from impending harm.
Then I later found the clearing
Where the bulldozers had been
And I saw the gentle lyrebird
Crushed beneath a tree.
How can I support these people
In their money-hungry quest,
Who reduce a thing of beauty
To this broken, bloodied mess?