A brief glimpse of my garden
The lilacs have shrunk to brittle brown conesmocked by lush green forsythia leaves. No
crows bob in the beeches, but a blackbird
flicks up his rear on a fence-post, his beak
blurring crocus-yellow in the sudden drizzle; perhaps
I watched his grandfather build the nest
the scaldies gape in now, harshly announcing
their hungry presence to slinking neighbourhood cats.
Press the play button to hear the poem
URL: http://mourne.org/blackbird.htm