The song of day begun


By mid June the garden is alive
with shrubs and flowers and tree
and the house loud with children
growing like  weeds, under feet and
wrapping knees.

Peace is hard then to find
in busy days when others laze
but a gardeners work is never done.
My ease comes not in sleep
but in another pleasure that I keep,
on those warm bright mornings
I take tea to the garden,
here I can see the main stage,
a wild hedge thick with thorn
crab apple and briar. Set on fire
by rising sun

No traffic noise,
silence and the performance ready to begin.
The sun illuminates the scene
as the hedge dwellers come alive.
A solitary call,
a robin. Breast afire calls his desire.
One answer then another.
A challenge from a goldfinch
who hops inch by inch along thorn
and calls harsh scorn
to any brash enough to challenge him
fine fellow

More now, the thrush thrilling,
the bunting singing.
Above it all the glorious call
of the blackbird.
Melodious and bright.
A symphony of delight

In the distance a pheasant calls in alarm.
Gone to flight no harm done by yapping fox
who protests the empty nests and empty bellies
of mewling cubs.

A cow lows and then a second and a third
as a herd of twenty wait by the farm gate
for milking.

Horses huffle and snuffle then in bright stalls,
early calls to grooms for grain and hay.
The day has started
in the silence of my favourite tune,
The song of a day begun

© Dave Kavanagh @

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