The Cranes of Hart’s Basin

I search the clouds where kindred spirits fly
And call to me to go I know not where.
Their voices touch some ancient spot in me
Some long forgotten piece of English sky,

Some fen where someone who is part of me
Looked up and watched enchanted just as I
As sunlight flashed upon the circling wings
And felt, as I, the joy of being free.

Sometimes, in gathering clouds and threatening rains
That seem to be some fatal augury
They lift and wheel and head into the storm
And I am left to pray: God keep the cranes.

God keep the cranes and bring them back to me.
God keep the cranes — God keep us free.