Sounds – by David Thompson
Beeching`s decimation of the rail,
Has left a leafy woodland trail,
Once a branch line to the sticks,
Took folks to With for two and six,
That passes close beside our home,
A rustic byway free to roam,
From dog walking and country hikers,
To naughty noisy motor bikers.
Hawthorn trees each side abound,
Where finches chirp their merry sound,
And the Crow with raucous caw,
That wakes me up at half past four.
And sometimes, when the air is still,
The Song Thrush gives melodious trill,
With Blackbirds, coats of velvet black,
Calling out with “chink” and “chack”.
And added from the lake beyond,
All the noises of the pond,
A quacking, honking and an aaaaaark,
The cacophony goes on till dark.
And then at night when half awake,
When all is quiet round the lake,
Other than a plaintive “hoo”
From Tawny Owl, how do you do,
A sound far off upon the air,
Or perhaps it isn`t there,
The rhythm of a ghostly train,
Or maybe too much wine again.
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