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trembling

DAWN CHORUS

Out one morning for an early flight,

when the sky was lit but the sun unrisen,

in a Surrey suburb full of trees,

the air itself I breathed was trembling

with the sound of all the songbirds of the earth,

an embracing, shimmering polyphony.

 

I hear it still – and remember a time,

walking home before dawn fifty years ago

in a Liverpool suburb filled with trees,

this fabled sound I had never heard,

a polyphony, shimmering, embracing,

the very air trembling.

 

 

 

POETIC JUSTICE

A wishful thinking editor re-spelt

my name with a T and changed a poem’s

final words from ‘a tramp woman nurses

an infant/under a tumbling sky’ to

‘under a trembling sky’. Humbling to find

an editor’s chance(?) choice of epithet

happier than mine own! Mine was truer.

One winter night, I was changing trains at Crewe

and a red faced fellow traveller

sang, “…not her beauty alone. ‘Twas the truth

in her eye made me love the Rose of Tralee”.

His pale wife shivered by their cardboard case.

His breath condensed like the whitest of roses.