Above, this morning, on another plain Over bogland and tundra rising snows drift Darting birds white, unlike you, they strain Fleeing on wing to save some earthen kin. Blood runs as they race, your shadows cast, Their hearts beating to some distant dawn. Under the pale sun, white burns on their backs, Daylight sings, their ears are horned, little faun White as snow, the prince of the sky is blessed On high by drops of rain, and dusted freeze, Then blood and breast sacrament and eucharist, Their tale ends in glory, risen as a breeze.