Tag Archives: birds

She Said to Me

She said to me
Yesterday, that she
Does not like to see
The rain.

On my way
Through the park yesterday
Slow droplets of rain
Fell from the trees,
And I heard
Birds sing.

How strange it is to me
That she should see
No beauty in these
Rain, and birds, and trees.

How Sweet And Sad Was The Bird I Heard

How sweet and sad was the bird
I heard
As I stood at my open window.

When I go
To the pub to meet my friends,
We will pretend
That there is no end,
Or at least hide for a while
In the smile
Produced by drink,
Which makes men think
That all,
This will last.

But, I shall recollect the bird’s call,
As I stood at my open window
And know
That all
That sings, must pass.

I Would Rather Die In This Darkening Park

I
Would rather die
In this darkening park,
While
Evening birds sing,
Than in some sterile
Hospital wing,
Where drugs oblivion bring,
And no birds sing.

Having written the last line, I am reminded that I owe a huge debt to John Keats, “La Belle Dame sans Merci”, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44475/la-belle-dame-sans-merci-a-ballad).

The last 2 lines of the first stanza of Keat’s poem read:
“The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing”.
While the last stanza of the poem runs thus:
“And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing”.

On the empty woodland path

On the empty
Woodland path
The birds sing,
But not for me
This spring.

As I pass
Along this desolate path
I laugh
At the idea
That the birds I hear
Could sing
For me in spring.

A Bird At Dusk I Left

A bird,
At dusk I left
Singing in the darkening park.
I heard
As I walked away
His song,
And half longed to stay,
But left
My solitary friend
To wend
My way home
Alone, save for his evening hymn,
Which is now a part
Of my oh, so human, heart

Crows at Dusk

Dusk is falling.
I hear
In the autumn of my year
Crows calling
And the chatter of the magpie
As I
Ponder on days of yore.

The caw
Of this dark bird
Was no
Doubt heard
Long ago
By those who walked this self-same track.

The evening is chill
But I will
Not turn back
For melancholy is a precious part
Of the human heart,
And those who forever laugh
Do not comprehend
That every path
Must reach its end.

I hear children playing in a garden close to the park.
‘Tis a happy sound after the cawing of the crows.
Who knows
Perhaps matters
Are not so stark
For not all dreams shatter
And something of what is precious may survive.