Songs

The fresh air moves like water round a boat.
The white clouds wander. Let us wander too.
The whining, wavering piover flap and float.
That crow is flying after that cuckoo.
Look! Look! … they're gone. What are the great trees calling?
Just come a little farther, by that edge
Of green, to where the stormy ploughland, falling
Wave upon wave, is lapping to the hedge.
Oh, what a lovely bank! Give me your hand.
Lie down and press your heart against the ground.
Let us both listen tili we understand
Each through the other, every natural sound...

I can't hear anything today, can you,
But, far and near: 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'