On the spiked barbed wire of time,
The savage Berberis Sparrow sings,
Dropping tunes of dripping blood,
Into the Port wine of autumn, from childhood.
Their cawing Carrion friends,
With sharpened pick beaks pick till the end,
At the gaping open gashed wounds,
Garnered by lyrics in their tunes.
Spoken talons leave no scars,
On which squinting eyes can gaze,
No nose detects the acrid smoke from afar,
But within; within, sulphur and acid blaze.
The literal child carries in a rusting cage,
The barbarous, Berberis Sparrows,
From first sound, till the end of age,
Slinging notes as sharp as arrows.