Death And The Heron Poem by Hugh Mitchell

A pair of herons flying from a ditch
wheeled low and elegant over the road
one flew too low - a sudden car
ended her gracious flight
her stately poise all gone
in clouds of flying feathers
an outstretched wing
a snowy breast and neck
turned upward
a blank eye
stiletto beak now still.

That beak -
how many little creatures of the ditch
that day had met their death of her?
Her own death now
no less of a surprise than theirs.

At least she claims a purpose -
youngsters to feed, survival for herself.
Her death seems purposeless -
some hurrying human, anxious to get home
her body crushed, then scattered
by other drivers hurrying close behind
And one may say:
'I hit a bird this evening - didn't see -
couldn't avoid it..... ah well, what's for tea? '