Poem - In memoriam Paul O'Flinn 14/3/2001
The red kites are very red this morning,
caught by the spring sun as they swing high
over Nuneham Courtenay, and in town
a wintered-over flycatcher skates out,
trying to keep his footing on the air.
So things are looking up at last it seems:
the floods receded, and the long winter's cold.
But on the eastern skyline, out past Bicester
a black pall hangs above the trees
where the cattle are burning, pyres no doubt
that we will see tonight replicated
over Tetovo on the News. There is
cause then for these red eyes all round,
light as Paul would have made of mourning him.
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