Nesting Boxes

I recall the nesting box

On my grandfather’s shed.

Blue Tits laid their eggs.

Some grew, and flew

Away.

January seems dead.

Yet, in the churchyard birds

Sing.

And, come the spring

Birds will lay in boxes

To the delight

Of young children.

And foxes bark

In the depths of night.

	K Morris Poet on My Muse
	K Morris Poet on Being Blind
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	K Morris Poet on A Young Lady of Peru

K Morris – Poet