The Dunster Lark Poem by Peter Jones

Rise up unfolding, born of clay;
come yet tumbling from the gale.
You are not dead; your eye is clear,
so sing your weeping madrigal

So lives the fiercely burning wing,
forged in anguish from the steel.
Again it fades and blows away
to sacrifice, and save the soil.

Soaring high above a field
your cascade starts the lover’s tear.
Seen just once, and in your grace,
unconsumed yet by the fire.

The knowing eye, unknowing stares
into the great infinity.
The dreadful judgement of your flight;
beacon bright, it comforts me.

And as you fall into the dross
and feathers blow about the wind:
the knowing only shall remain -
the echo of the living mind.