Cranes

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Cranes

Cranes, cranes, go away.
Come again another day.

In vain the sunset on the marsh
Speaks of the daily drain so harsh

On this domain of this rare bird
Whose whooping strains yet to be heard.

How inhumane to crush its nest,
To preordain this unblessed quest,

With claws and chains so grand on sand,
To gain a house in no-man’s-land.

How so inane this flex of power
To build on cranes a sinking tower.

Cranes, cranes, go away.
Never come another day.

In this seemingly idyllic scene of whooping cranes on the marsh, it is the background players of the sun and a man-made crane which upon reflection loom ever larger. The whooping crane, a nearly extinct bird, has lost its habitat. As both the painting and poem express, the sun illuminates this ongoing loss and the foolish disruption by man which is causing it.