Birdsong

Birdsong was almost lost to me,
caged in that office for thirty years.

Then an old friend sent me links
to birdwatching blogs. My laptop rang

with the happy chimes of robins,
finches, blackbirds, and wrens.

I dreamt of setting up a blog of my own
so walked to the park

with the hope of recording
a warbler in the shrubs

but all I got was traffic
and people shouting in the street.

So I walked until I reached a dusty track
where emerald green wheat

gave off a chemical scent
under a larkless sky.

I couldn’t scrape together any content
to drive people to my blog

so reposted old videos
of swallows chattering in a sunny barn,

an owl’s last hoot at dawn,
a skylark trembling as it sang itself

up into the silvered clouds,
like a half-forgotten memory,

or half-remembered dream.