The lambs have gone from fields today.
up the hill toward the fields.
a man and a boy and a plane.
what does my son carry today?
On roundabout green
Donning Santa hats.
Approaching cars fill with laughter,
Children in the back seats lean and point,
“Mummy, Daddy, look at the shee—”
Tributes flutter like Small Coppers;
Pulls my gaze like a Red Admiral.
And there like a ghost is the mother
Attending to the roadside grave.
In the chill of a dawn, wet
With tears of dew, I saw
Broken and strewn,
Limbs and guts
Snapped and burst
By metal, on bloodied tarmac.