Birdsong

Hark! Can you hear the birdsong up above?

See her there. An inky arrow soaring high,

Then, bending her course, a great curve down,

Down, down through the green.

 

Hark! Can you hear her there?

Rummaging and rustling and ruffling

Through all that debris, tossed

Upon the crispy, crackly undergrowth.

This tenebrous wood oppresses not she;

A streak of colour on a vast canvas.

The mushroom there makes for a comfortable stool,

From which her quick eye darts between shadows.

 

Hark! Can you hear that scuffle and flutter?

She has left the ground. Hopping from tree to tree,

From tree to bush, to branch, to twig.

Larger beings croak and caw

And call and stomp

And she avoids them all –

She flies to a familiar place.

Her rapid pulse fills her

Like a roar in a cave.

 

Hark! Can you hear the pulse become a beat?

With excitement, she arrives at the tree

Where she sees her love. Squat in their nest, he waits.

She gives a high cheep, replied to by his.

And they nestle close, heads bowed together.

 

Hark, do you hear those soft coos,

Do you feel that dull heat?

Though the earth can house the bird,

She finds home in the company of her love.

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