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?

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