Wire, spire, light and bird

Wire, spire, light and bird.

The keeper's wire couldn't stop him and the Parson's spire couldn't persuade him of his sins. And when morning's golden light caught him, it was with one or more of the squire's plump birds in his hand.

Wire, spire, light and bird.

Now he's caught on the wire. Watched over by the Frenchies' spire (which will somehow, a miracle, survive the whole bloody affair). And, as morning's cold, field-grey, foreign light catches him in its crosshairs, a flushed bird lifts from him and flies away. Escaping the guns.

Wire, spire, light and bird.