Above are creatures born of flies
Which stab and spike and reek of blood.
The tales all speak of nests they make
From neatly piled up bones and scales.
It’s said their wings are sky made flesh,
And dry as drought their awful skin.
It’s said they scream beyond all sound,
And move so high they breathe the clouds.
And if these creatures mark you out
There’s nothing you can do to hide.
No reedbed thick, no lily-pad
Will keep you safe, will save your life.
The creatures of the deathly air
Form rainbows from our world’s despair.