The locusts

Those have descended from the
far off alien skies,
Their wings light and flapping to
keep them alive.

A child’s stick brings them down
one at a time.
He had nothing against them who
were our guests

Locusts from the Siberian plains
into our bushes
Who had brought their memories,
their thoughts.

They had brought their memories
of green leaves
At other places and other thoughts,
other skies.