Mars on a cold morning

    The winds, all of them swirl
    Confused, having been made
    Here years ago but never given
    Direction; “direction to follow,”
    Was in the manual, but
    Year after year winds stir
    The “earth” (can’t seem to

    Call it Mars) putting it all
    Back as it was.  Looking
    Down, the vultures don’t
    Mind, lurking up there, wings
    Tucked, folded just so to see
    Whatever’s down here dead.
    These birds taking best to our

    New home.  Lesser birds are
    Now all gone as are the sheep
    And cattle.  Goats, llamas and
    Camels are still here in small
    numbers and can be seen if one
    Has the vantage and a good
    Scope.  We don’t hope for much

    Cut off and discontinued. I saw
    A great eagle, rare now, higher
    Than the vultures fly, seeming
    To dream rather than hunt.
    We are a trifle, too small an
    Enclave to come fetch; not
    Exciting enough to come see.