Oh, creature of stone-gray, of memory dim,

We cataloged feathers and measured the limb.

We speak of your numbers, a bountiful cloud,

A shade that once darkened the farmer's field, loud.

You knew no real threat but the sky's sudden blight,

So numerous, trusting, you took easy flight.

Your vast, beating heart was your great undoing,

A slow, endless harvest, no one pursuing

Conservation or caution, no reason to pause,

Against the loud human with his greedy new laws.

You flew with no effort, you landed with ease,

Then vanished completely upon the cold breeze.

The flocks are now silent, the air is too clear,

A lesson in finality, ringing so near.

We mourn the lost thunder of ten million wings,

And the quiet that only total extinction brings.