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A new house, new back garden
fields and forests, welcome boundaries.
I awake, to a cheerful caress – the coo-coo of the wood pidgeon –
the same dawn chorus
that this city boy, loved to stir to, when holidaying on uncle Tom’s farm.
And now it’s a daily delight
a caucus of carrions
a causative cacophony
where the rooks raid
and magpies pinch;
the black and white denizens – usually two of them – a sign of joy
oftimes fighting, so naturally enough
I’ve christened them Bowyer and Dyer.
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No nicknames yet, for the squads of starlings
the bevy of blackbirds
the thrash of thrushes;
or the unreliant robins
manfully trying to make their way
in this madcap menagerie,
much like Swindon, Cheltenham and Bristol City.
And let’s not forget the blue tits
bouncing to the beat
of my avian orchestra.
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Again, in contrast to my own little devils
running unfettered and free,
the Saints, with recent welcome change of address,
now, after 27 years, have a new – and unwanted – post code :