A Garden, full of Birdsong

A garden, full of birdsong, bathes my mind,
levelling out the aches, and furrowed creases;
the iron grasp of winter lies behind, 
as daffodils light up the children’s faces.

The meadowlark and sparrow greet the day
while swallows on the wing, returning, flourish:
The song thrush and the gentle-footed jay
make busy at their nests, their young to nourish.

Lapwings, in their curious flight, scour wheatfields
searching for flies and moths to feed their chicks,
while on the beach, from Cullercoats to North Shields,
gulls and starlings plunder human picnics:

Here, you and I make merry in our nest,
King of the East, and Queen of the Wild West.

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