Revenge of dead birds

With claws clenched, they stood still
Like a flame watching the wax drip
It was high time they spread their wings
And relish the sweet taste
Of what they’ve been longing for, since December
Humans now, are out of luck

Taking off drenched, across the hill
Plunging for that bloody sip
Making cemeteries their killing rings
There is no time to waste
shiny sharpened beaks and claws, their defender
Best tools, to rip and pluck

And now that they’ve made the kill
Ripping apart from toe to tip
Nothing more that the future brings
Can resurrect his haste
But if, by fate, they break laws, remember
Dead birds, don’t give a fuck

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This is a sequel to a poem a wrote last year called “Ghosts of dead birds”. You can find the full poem here.