The Birds

A Poem by Alma A. Hromic

January 20, 2003


We are the messengers from on high.
The v-shaped passage of your days
across a sweeping autumn sky,
the music a waning year plays,
a soaring soul-deep melody
of open wings and spirits free —
from snow to sun and back again
we drift across the dreams of men,
we fly,

But you steal the gleam we steered by —
the sunlight sparkle on wild wetlands —
under human constructs they will lie,
hard concrete instead of muddy sands.
No haven where we can rest and sleep
no way our ancient beacons to keep.
You will miss our presence and our voice
But you are leaving us no choice —
we die,


"The Environmental Protection Agency and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers on Friday directed that a rule protecting migratory birds should not, in itself, be used to justify protection of isolated swamps and bogs under the federal water pollution law -- a decision potentially affecting millions of acres of wetlands. EPA officials estimate that up to a fifth of the nation's remaining 100 million acres of wetlands are considered isolated. The agencies' action marks the first in a lengthy rule-making process that could change the scope of the Clean Water Act, suggesting a re-evaluation of the extent of future protections for wetlands confined to one state and not used for navigation."
Roger Witherspoon
January 12, 2003

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Alma Hromic on Swans (with bio).

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Published January 20, 2003
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