Listen with Mother (Nature)

(for B and the RSPB)

Neither birder nor a twitcher, me,
I’m listening now to nature’s voice,
and one who makes it like a breeze, as she
observes and listens, makes her choice,
identifying birdsong in the trees,
by ‘GIS’ or guess, and otherwise,
mingling with the endless drone of bees,
the many coloured butterflies.
In this small copse and garden that is ours
we’re listening, as we always will,
to the music nature plays for hours:
sonorous, strident, shrill.

© 2011 John Anstie

(View the author’s commentary on this poem)

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