During Lockdown I, like many others, began to notice birdsong and, on further investigation, the birds themselves. It started me thinking and I wrote this little poem…
Sitting in the treetops, perched on telegraph wires, singing sweetly as if nothing is wrong.
Calling to one another in the bright ice sunshine.
Don’t they know of famine and war, of crisis and cruelty?
Don’t they know of want and greed, of hate and indifference?
Note: They did not appreciate my words and regularly punish me by splattering the car (especially after I’ve just washed it).