Blackbirds, Easter 2020
A year ago, who would have thought
the days would tiptoe past
so stealthily – I sit and watch
blackbirds hopping on grass
then pausing, standing, listening
to the earth below
in case some life is stirring there.
Then stab. Then eat. Then go.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tom Vaughan would be pleased to hear them.