“The birds sang in the wet trees
And I listened to them it was a hundred years from now
And I was dead and someone else was listening to them.
But I was glad I had recorded for him
The melancholy.”
Patrick Kavanagh
though the trees are not always wet Robin tunes up quietly at first autumn mist in its throat a farewell melody to a faded season and blackbirds hymn the day is done high in a broadleaf tree though birds are not always so doleful one minuscule wren with a giocosa call can compose cantatas every Spring and Hardy's thrush threw gloom to the wind with carolling yet we who absorb the hue of blue note most the melancholy mood
Taking inspiration from a recently discovered poet – Patrick Kavanagh – and a little late entry for the Toad’s Tuesday Platform
PoetryPix 