The Angel In The Barn
It’s hot, by God! - in Warranar,
It’s hot, too hot by far,
The sun leers down from a barren sky
To scorch the where-you-are!
The ground is hard, burnt dry within,
The snakes curl up and die,
And trees take on a crippled shape
As birds fall out of the sky!
The farm is dead, six months a year,
Brown earth and endless dust,
It never rains! Why do we stay?
Despair says that we must!
One night I lay all bathed in sweat,
A hot wind seared the plain,
I seemed to hear some scraping sound,
Then thought: ‘Could this be rain? ’
Outside the moon had shed its light
All pale and gold on brown,
The iron door on the rusty barn
Then fell, came crashing down.
And so it was I saw the wings
Dragged slowly through the hay,
Some giant bird inside the barn,
Some giant bird of prey!
I took the rifle off the wall,
Walked slowly through the dark,
A shape lay on a bale of straw
I aimed! – The shape said: ‘Hark!
I have not come to punish you,
Please put the gun away! ’
The voice was like a silvery bell
On the back of a bullock dray.
I edged in closer to the bird
And saw its wings were fine,
But underneath lay a slip of a girl
With lips as red as wine!
And blood showed on her pallid cheek,
Her arm lay twisted, torn,
I tried to help her up, she cried:
‘No! Leave me here, it’s warm! ’
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poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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